


Point Blank

by mickie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Allergies, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-07 17:39:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14086134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickie/pseuds/mickie
Summary: Sebastian goes to a job interview.  He doesn't care for his new boss but the job pays well and what could possibly go wrong?WIP Ch. 10 posted





	1. Chamomile Tea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fabricdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/gifts).



> This story was written as a prompt challenge because I had surgery and the three current stories I'm working on went into hiding. Fabricdragon gave me these prompts: Sebastian, kidnapping, flowers, allergies in the hope of getting my head in gear. So far it's working. I will post the link to her story with these prompts as soon as the story is up.

**Chamomile Tea**

 

“Uh, this way, sir,” the lackey, and that’s really all he was as far as Sebastian was concerned, a disposable lackey, said when he’d entered the office and given his name. Colonel Sebastian Moran. The dishonorable discharge only theoretically invalidated the colonel part and Sebastian chose to give it no credence. He was also more than happy to explain things to those that did. A skittish assistant wasn’t worth the bother.

“Mr. Magnussen has been expecting you,” the lackey blurted out. Small talk. Sebastian shifted his eyes to the plaque on the man’s desk to see if there was a name associated with all this foolishness. Ian. Common enough name. He would probably be soon-to-be-dead-Ian if he kept annoying Sebastian. 

“I’m not late,” Sebastian snarled. He was precisely three minutes early. 

Ian jumped about six inches away from him with fear. Very, very skittish that one. “Oh, I, I, oh!” Ian stammered fearfully. “I didn’t mean it that way at-”

Before he could continue, Sebastian growled, “And what other possible way could you have meant it?” Ian’s jaw dropped open and his hands started trembling. Sebastian knew he presented a terrifying image. Tall, muscular, bespoke Savile Row suit, cold eyes, and holding himself like a man who had sent many to their deaths, because he had.

Terror filled Ian’s face and he raced to a door five feet away, knocked quickly, and then flung it open. “Colonel Sebastian Moran, here for you, sir,” he said quickly and then ushered Sebastian in.

Charles Augustus Magnussen rose and smiled coldly. Sebastian took in all the details and decided that this man could be worth his while and might be the answer to his current predicament. “ _Colonel_ Moran,” Magnussen said and, in that instant, based on how he said that one word, Sebastian knew that he despised the man. He couldn’t retaliate the way he normally would. At least, not yet. “Please sit down.” Magnussen indicated the seat opposite his own at the elegant table. A silver tea service was set off to one side.

“Thank you,” Sebastian murmured and made his way to the seat. Both men sat down simultaneously. “Send in Miranda,” Magnussen said to the still trembling Ian. “She can serve us. _You_ are dismissed.” Sebastian almost felt sorry for the poor young man, who nodded and left the room as quickly as possible.

“Good help is so hard to find,” Magnussen noted and Sebastian was reminded of an unblinking snake, or his father. The man stared deeply into Sebastian’s eyes and that chilled him down to his bones. “You come highly recommended.” Not knowing how to respond and not wanting to seem arrogant, he merely tipped his head in acknowledgment.

“Educated at Eton College and the University of Oxford before embarking upon a military career, a notable one with the 1st Bangalore Pioneers.” Magnussen said. “Excellent in leadership, tactics, hand-to-hand combat. And a _decent_ shot.” Sebastian smiled wanly. His skills as a sniper were second to none and he knew that Magnussen knew that as well.

A young woman entered the room carrying a tray of scones. She set them in the middle of the table and then poured tea for Magnussen first. Sebastian raised a hand to stop her. “No, thank you,” he murmured. “Perhaps just water.”

“Mr. Magnussen had us make this tea just for you,” Miranda said quietly.

“It’s _black_ tea,” Magnussen said.

“Properly made Bengal tea,” Miranda said and picked up a silver fine mesh strainer before starting to pour the tea through the strainer and into the cups.

“I haven’t seen that done since I left India,” Sebastian noted.

“Just for you,” Magnussen almost purred, like a large cat about to pounce, and that made the hairs on the back of Sebastian’s neck stand on end.

“It’s got an orange pekoe base with ginger, cardamom, and clove,” Miranda explained. “Milk and sugar of course but I didn’t add very much sugar so you can adjust it to taste.” Once she was done pouring the two cups, she strained the rest of the tea into another silver teapot. “Will you need anything else?” she asked sweetly.

“No, thank you,” Sebastian said while Magnussen waved her away dismissively. Sebastian tried the tea and it was good. Not quite like the ones he’d had in India but better than anything that could be found in England. He waited for Magnussen to take a scone before selecting one himself and setting it on a small plate. He again tipped his head to Magnussen knowing that the man would appreciate it. “This is lovely,” he said and took another sip. Miranda left the room. Sebastian wondered how the man could treat her so indifferently but it was the same way that his father treated people.

“It’s their loss,” Magnussen said coolly. When Sebastian looked at him for more of an explanation, he continued, “Discharging you for being too violent.” Sebastian inhaled sharply. No one outside of his commanding officer was supposed to know about that. Then again, it had been his commanding officer that had put in the recommendation with Magnussen so he supposed certain amounts of information had been released. “War is about violence,” Magnussen whispered smoothly. “Why target the ones that are good at it? Seems counterproductive.” 

“Yes,” Sebastian agreed although he was starting to feel even more uncomfortable around the man. The allure of cases with the potential for both violence and practicing his sharpshooting skills, on the other hand, sparked his interest. The fact that this could allow him to maintain the lifestyle that he was used to without having to run home to the family in defeat was an added bonus.

“But, on to business,” Magnussen said. “I could go on and on about all your accolades and how useful you can be in my employ but that would just be useless chatter. Work for me and you’ll be the most feared man in London.”

The flattery and arrogance disgusted Sebastian. Magnussen obviously thought he was stupid. Seb could work that to his advantage. “Second most?” he countered.

“No, no, _the_ most feared, because I’m a simple business man, an honest journalist,” Magnussen said. Sebastian couldn’t decide if those words- to be the most feared man in London- turned him on or made him want to run away and vomit. The man continued, “You get to do everything that you like; you’ll have the life you wanted in the army without any of the discomforts or nuisances; and you’ll make enough money that your parents, your father, the esteemed Baron Moran, will be a pauper compared to you. You’ll be able to buy them six times over.” 

Magnussen smiled that cold smile once more and Sebastian could almost hear a cobra slithering in the sand. “That sounds worthwhile,” he answered coolly even though his instinct of self-preservation was telling him to shoot the man and run. “What are the terms?”

“I haven’t hired you yet,” Magnussen noted and pulled a yellow mailer from his briefcase. “I am supposed to meet a business partner tonight at the Mountain View restaurant on Trafalgar in Greenwich. It’s an Indian restaurant so you’re probably much more at home there than I am, what with my preference of a roast beef sandwich and crisps.”

“I do enjoy Indian food,” Sebastian noted. “I don’t think I’ve been there though.”

“The Curry Box is more of what you can afford,” Magnussen surmised snidely. He waved the envelope at Sebastian. “Take care of this and you’ll be well on your way to anything and everything you deserve considering all your accomplishments.”

Sebastian nodded. The meeting was already taking too long and they still hadn’t gotten to whatever untrustworthy-slithering-Magnussen wanted him to do. He guessed that the less he’d have to deal with the man directly, the happier he’d be. “So, at this restaurant…”

“You’ll meet one of my business partners, Donald McMurrogh,” Magnussen explained. “He’s selling me part of our joint assets and I’m selling him some of mine. An even trade really.” 

Sebastian nodded. “That sounds fair,” he said. “What’s the catch? There has to be one, otherwise you wouldn’t need someone like me.”

“Of course.” Magnussen smiled coldly and Sebastian decided that if there truly was such a thing as the devil, then this man was it. “Once he signs the paperwork and, if you have to, you can sign as my proxy, then you eliminate him.”

Sebastian nodded. That was much more his speed. “Any preference?”

“Dead.”

“Okay, well, I can manage that in about 385 ways on a slow day,” Sebastian said. “Do you have a preference for blood, asphyxiation, make him suffer, make it quick. Something poetic so that those that know you, get it? Or drowning? Those are kinda fun.”

“Have all the fun you want,” Magnussen said drily. “I only care about two things: signature and dead.” He reached into his briefcase and retrieved a check. “Here’s an advance on your fee. It should keep you comfortable for the next few days.” 

Sebastian looked at the check. £5,000. That would get him caught up on overdue bills. “That’s one expensive bullet, Mr. Magnussen,” he noted.

“That’s only the start…” Magnussen grinned and Sebastian felt like a mouse about to be swallowed by a python. 

*~*~*

Sebastian stepped into The Mountain View restaurant as though he owned it. “I’m here to meet someone,” he briskly told the hostess, “a Mr. Donald McMurrogh.”

She nodded. “Right this way, sir, he’s just arrived.”

“Thank you,” Sebastian said as he was led to a table where a very petit man, certainly compared to him, sat perusing the menu. He looked up and then stood as they approached. Sebastian smiled genuinely. Cute, dark hair, slim, clearly a bookkeeper or an accountant, not combat oriented, and an adorable lopsided smile that reached his eyes. 

Sebastian wanted to laugh. This one was going to be too easy. “Please sit down,” he said with all the posh Eaton breeding leaching into his voice. He extended his hand. “Colonel Sebastian Moran.”

“Donald McMurrogh,” the man said and his voice was filled with admiration. “Are you really a colonel?” 

Sebastian smirked. Perhaps he’d have to spend some _quality time_ with Donald before he finished him off. “I’ve just retired,” he said. “Come home from the sandbox.”

“Wow! I bet you saw some heavy…” Donald looked about as though he were trying to find the right word. “Action!”

“I saw a lot of things,” Sebastian murmured, “things that would make your skin crawl.”

Donald didn’t seemed shocked by that; most people were. Instead he seemed excited. “I’ll bet,” he said cheerfully. “And you still have the tan to prove it.” Sebastian smiled wanly. There was only so much adoration he could tolerate before wanting, no needing, to kill the offender and the mission would be at stake. “Shall we order and then get down to business?” Donald continued, almost as if sensing his discomfort.

Sebastian smiled with relief. Food and business would be a welcome diversion. “Have you eaten here before?” he asked. “Do you recommend anything in particular?”

“Everything is good,” Donald replied cheerfully. “The Murg Shazani and the Lasuni Mutton are excellent. Anything with beef or lamb is really good but I’m truly partial to the Lamb Vindaloo. If you want something vegetarian, then the Brinjal Bhaji is exquisite.”

Donald waved over their server, who took their drink order, a bottle of Grüner Veltliner, and then Sebastian ordered the Lasuni Mutton while Donald selected the Lamb Vindaloo. They ordered momos and thukpa for appetizers.

When their drinks and appetizers appeared, Sebastian retrieved the papers from his briefcase and handed them to Donald. “This is the agreement sent by Mr. M,” he said careful not to use Magnussen’s name even though he had not explicitly been forbidden to do so. That earned him a sly glance from the other man that Sebastian wondered about. Perhaps there was more to adorable-Donald than he’d surmised. 

Donald skimmed the documents and then looked up with wide sweet eyes. “Exactly as discussed. Mr. Magnussen is always very precise,” he said and then paused a moment before continuing. “What are your thoughts on the terms of sale, Colonel Moran?”

Sebastian pursed his lips momentarily. His opinion didn’t really matter and there was absolutely no way in hell that he should even be asked for an opinion. Eventually he shrugged while trying to find a polite way to sidestep the question. “I’m just his representative,” he demurred.

“Nonsense, you seem intelligent,” Donald continued and that made Sebastian smile again. Of course he was intelligent. Snipers had to not only be intelligent and patient but they had to keep razor sharp wits about them at all times to get the job done. “What are your thoughts?” Donald pressed and handed Sebastian the documents.

Taking them hesitantly, Sebastian pondered whether he was supposed to actually read the enclosed material and then absentmindedly wondered if this were a test or a trap and Donald McMurrogh actually worked for Magnussen. He skimmed through the line items as their food arrived. Surprisingly, they brought out the food along with the appetizers. Both started eating and Sebastian decided that the food was very good. The chili tomato sauce on his mutton had an intriguing and exquisite taste. “This is delicious,” he murmured.

“One of my favorite restaurants,” Donald said while seeming to struggle a bit with the noodles of the thukpa. 

Sebastian found it adorable. “May I?” he asked. Donald offered him the chopsticks. “Hold them just a bit further down, closer to the tip; that gives you more power.” Donald giggled and Sebastian suddenly realized how that might have sounded. He wasn’t above flirting on a job. Widening his eyes, he stared deeply into Donald’s and spoke in a huskier voice. “Make sure you get enough and hold it with just the right pressure.” Donald’s mouth opened with shock. “Then manipulate it just like this so you get a perfect roll.” He held it up to Donald’s mouth. “Then open wide and swallow.” He pushed the noodles into the other man’s mouth. 

Donald chewed a bit dumbfoundedly and then smiled with some embarrassment. “I may need more practice,” he said and then giggled again. Sebastian normally despised giggling but from this man, it was adorable. And then, like a sharp U-turn, Donald asked, “What do you think of the arrangements?”

“I think,” Sebastian began slowly to buy himself some time. He knew he had to tread carefully and he felt his throat start to tighten a bit. “It’s an interesting deal.” He reached for his glass of wine and downed it. It didn’t seem to help and made him feel ridiculously warm. Shaking his head, he tried to focus his thoughts.

“Are you alright?” Donald asked.

“I’m fine,” Sebastian answered and tried to wave his hand dismissively although it was obvious he wasn’t in as much in control of his arm as he should be. Something was wrong. “I don’t know why... you’re agreeing to sell... this part of the business,” he said struggling to complete the sentence and catch his breath. Alarm bells started screaming in his head. Anaphylaxis.

Instinctively he reached for the epinephrine pen that he always carried in the inside pocket of his jacket. “What’s going on?” Donald asked. Concern filled his voice. Sebastian sensed him get up and pull him to the ground while getting his legs up on the chair. The man seemed to know something of first aid. He heard Donald telling the staff to call for his car. 

Fingers that had been trained almost every day for such an emergency found the pen and pulled off the cap. Donald pulled the pen out of his hands. “Not this stuff,” he whispered. “I have something better in my car.” Sebastian tried to grab his pen but a very strong arm, much stronger than it should have been coming from such a small-adorable-likes-Indian-food-Donald, pushed him down. 

As Sebastian faded out of consciousness, he saw the man’s eyes sharpen. “We’ll take very good care of you, Colonel Sebastian Moran, unparalleled sniper, 1st Bangalore Pioneers, highly allergic to chamomile tea...”


	2. You're Cute But You're Not Fooling Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian wakes up after his anaphylactic reaction and gets a job offer from an unlikely source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to post an update. I had minor surgery on my ankle and the lack of activity slowed me down. You would think extra time on my hands meant more writing but no, it slowed down the thinking process...

**You’re Cute But You’re Not Fooling Me**

 

Coming awake, Sebastian felt good, really good. The kind of good that came after a solid, uninterrupted night of sleep following an exhilarating mission or an exhausting workout. He didn’t want to wake up, he felt so good. He was warm, but not too warm; the sheets were perfectly silky and smooth; and there was a heavy enough blanket on top of him that was soothing. That could be another reason why he’d slept so well. Pressure kept the anxiety, panic attacks, and nightmares at bay. 

Sebastian felt too relaxed to want to care about anything and he knew that was usually a bad sign. It meant that he’d probably overslept and his day would be shot to hell once he realized how far behind he was. Or something was decidedly wrong. Something in his mind was trying to surface. Some warning. Seb couldn’t quite pinpoint it. He didn’t own a blanket of the right weight. His sheets weren’t silky. And there was something important that he had to do. _Work_. He’d been on a job but what was it? What... had happened?

Deciding that he wanted to curl up on his side, he tried to shift and those little warning bells in his head became something close to screaming sirens. He was restrained and yet he couldn’t muster up any consternation. He was relaxed. He must have been given some sort of sedation. At least he was alert enough for his training to kick in. Seb evened out his breathing and started taking stock, slowly tensing muscles to test the restraints while trying to remember what had happened.

Much to his dismay, he was blindfolded and thoroughly restrained: ankles, wrists, neck and one arm where there was an IV. The restraints were padded. That had been considerate. Eventually he heard someone approaching and then felt a hand on his shoulder. “Welcome back,” a vaguely familiar voice said. Sebastian groaned as he tried to remember. “I trust that you’re comfortable.”

Donald McMurrogh. The name flashed through his mind and unleashed a cascade of muted panic. He had been supposed to meet with McMurrogh, get a signature, and then dispatch the man quickly. Instead he’d had an allergic reaction to the meal and lost consciousness. He remembered trying to inject himself with epinephrine and sweet-docile-very-adorable-Donald looking much more formidable than he had before. There had been something said about a car. Clearly, Donald had brought him somewhere and he was the man’s prisoner. Taking a deep breath, he tried to speak. “Yes.” His voice was shaky and his throat burned.

“Good,” Donald said cheerfully and Sebastian felt soft fingertips loosening the blindfold. “I’m taking this off and then releasing your neck. I expect you to behave.” Sebastian groaned. “Do you have any nausea?”

“No,” Sebastian muttered although he wasn’t sure he was ready to ingest anything at that moment.

“Even better, but I want you to be able to move your head before I give you any water. Don’t want you to asphyxiate on your own vomit and end up with aspiration pneumonia.”

“That would be... inopportune,” Seb quipped almost playfully. As more memories came back, he decided to keep the conversation as casual as possible until he could find a way to escape and finish the job.

He felt the blindfold sliding away from his eyes and then Donald stepped into view. He was smiling sweetly and looked almost hesitant. “You’re cute, but you’re not fooling me,” Sebastian grumbled but it came out more like a growl.

“I like a smart man.” Donald’s expression sharpened just a little as he again stepped to the side and removed the neck restraint and then slid his hand to Sebastian’s neck. He knew what that was: a show of power. In his condition, a neck restraint hadn’t even been needed and while the fingers around his neck felt strong and steady, there was no way petite Donald McMurrogh was going to choke him out one-handed. It was a performance. Sebastian didn’t mind. It was showing _him_ how Donald ticked.

This needed to be played cool. Sighing, he closed his eyes. He sank into the sensations and savored them. With whatever drugs he’d been given still in his system, he felt like he was floating and Donald’s hand was the only thing anchoring him. This could easily be a lover and not an antagonist. Slowly he parted his lips. He knew how he looked doing that.

“ _You’re_ cute but you’re not fooling me,” Donald said softly. Sebastian opened his eyes. The other man wore an amused expression and didn’t seem angry although it was obvious that he saw right through what Sebastian had been doing. Donald seemed more pensive than anything else. 

“Let me get you some water,” he said and walked to the door, before opening it and speaking to someone outside. 

Sebastian smiled wryly. Donald really wasn’t stupid at all or he worked for someone who wasn’t. Or both. He knew that he had better tread carefully. Donald returned with a plastic cup filled with water and a straw and a vase filled with bright yellow orange-striped tulips. He set them on a bed stand and and then moved the stand so that Sebastian could see it. “Flowers?” Sebastian asked.

Donald eyed him shyly. “I thought you might like to look at something bright and cheerful. It might make you feel better.”

“I actually feel pretty good,” Sebastian said and that wasn’t a lie, which worried him. “What did you give me?”

“Epinephrine at first,” Donald replied. “Then the medical team gave you their magical combination of more epinephrine, antihistamines, steroids, and a bit of an opioid pain reliever to help you feel human again.”

Even though Sebastian knew that he could easily have died, that was a significant amount of drugs and he never enjoyed taking narcotics. “How bad was it?” he asked slowly. He knew that they hadn’t needed to perform CPR because his sternum didn’t hurt. His throat felt raw so they probably had to have intubated him and possibly pumped his stomach. Donald confirmed the latter two. “How and why were you able to get me help so quickly?” he asked.

“I brought two paramedics with me,” Donald said. “Just in case…”

“You knew.” Sebastian looked directly and unflinchingly into Donald’s eyes.

“I did.”

“Magnussen has a mole who reports to you or someone in your organization.”

Donald smiled innocently. “I’ll never admit to anything.”

“You don’t have to,” Sebastian said and then looked down at the IV in his arm. “Why let me live?” He took a deep breath. “I wasn’t there to afford you the same courtesy.” Donald sighed and then remained silent for a moment. Sebastian stared at the tulips. They were quite cheerful and he absentmindedly wondered if there was any significance to them.

“I’d like you to work for me, and my boss,” Donald said hesitantly. “We didn’t exactly start off on the right foot but it could have been much worse and we can make it work.”

“You purposefully dosed me with something to which I am lethally allergic,” Sebastian said. “I’m not sure I can get past that.” Donald looked away. “Although I’m guessing that it was because you knew that I was there to terminate you.”

“Yes.” Donald turned back and looked into Seb’s eyes. For an instant he seemed young, innocent, and not like someone who was involved in the type of business Magnussen and others like him ran, no matter how legitimate they tried to make things seem. Donald seemed as though he wanted to say more but then turned away to look at the door.

“How can _you_ get past that?” Sebastian asked. Donald turned back to look at him with wide hope-filled eyes but didn’t speak. Seb continued, “Why did you let me live and how do you think we’ll manage to work together or for you to trust me to get a job done and not betray you?”

“I’ll admit that it won’t be easy but I’m very pragmatic,” Donald said. “As is my main employer. As long as, going forward, jobs are completed effectively and efficiently, then the past is… somewhat irrelevant. I’ll try to ignore it. My boss doesn’t care.” he smiled almost sheepishly. “Even though it was just a few minutes, you did impress me at dinner. You were honest while still trying to do right by your employer. That showed me a lot. I’m a good judge of character and I get a sense that if you give your word, you’ll keep it.”

Sebastian nodded. “I can’t say I cared all that much for Magnussen. I needed money so I tried not to think about it all that much. He didn’t strike me as very trustworthy.”

“He’s not a nice man,” Donald said with a sweet impish smile.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “You’re still not fooling me.” Donald pouted. Sebastian sighed before continuing. “Can you well and truly get beyond the fact that I was going to, without a doubt, kill you?”

“Would you really have?”

“Yes.” Sebastian considered what he remembered from the previous evening. “I freely admit that I might have tried to drag you to a hotel room first but yes.”

“Good,” Donald said. “That shows a strong work ethic. Just, don’t do it from now on, okay?”

Sebastian smiled. “The plan to kill you or the one to drag you off to room?” Donald giggled and, once more, Sebastian found it adorable. “So, then, what are my options?” he asked and then added, “as far as yes or no are concerned?”

Nodding, Donald brought two fingers to Sebastian’s lips and traced his fingertips along them. Donald’s touch was sensual and erotic in its simplicity. Sebastian had to fight to keep himself from shuddering. “Very similar, actually,” Donald answered. Sebastian arched an eyebrow. That couldn’t be true. “Either way, you leave with an appropriate story of my demise and the signed paperwork. I took the liberty of sending Magnussen photos of my corpse from your phone.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened with shock and he shook his head to get away from the man’s fingers. “What? How did you?!”

Donald moved his hand away. “Don’t ask. You’ll figure it out later once the drugs clear your system but it really doesn’t matter. I did and it’s done.”

“Fine,” Sebastian grumbled. “What else did you do to my phone?”

“Added my contact info,” Donald said sweetly.

“We’re not dating,” he retorted although he was tempted to nip at the man’s fingertips.

“Define dating,” Donald teased.

Sebastian couldn’t help but be struck by the absurdity of the situation and the realization that he was still attracted to the man despite nearly being killed. He sighed. Donald was danger giftwrapped in adorable and Sebastian was a junkie for that drug. “Define my job responsibilities,” he countered.

“It depends on how much you want to do,” Donald said and smiled earnestly. “You may find working for Magnussen gets tedious. He’s cheap and controlling.”

“What are you?”

“Fair,” Donald answered. “And trustworthy.”

“Honor among thieves?”

“Professional courtesy.”

Sebastian nodded. That was something that he valued and had found precious little growing up, in school, in the military, and back in civilian life. “I can work with that.”

“For now, all I want you to do is report to me anything that Magnussen has you do and anything that you overhear,” Donald explained. “You’ll be compensated accordingly. If things go well and you want other work, that can be provided. One of the people I work for has need of a sniper, among other things.”

Nodding again, Sebastian briefly pondered how he’d gone from being discharged and no one showing any interest in him to now having two or potentially more people expecting him to provide his services. “Who do you work for?”

“That’s best left unsaid,” Donald said and tipped his head as he let his fingers fall to his side. Sebastian immediately felt the loss of contact. “I work with a lot of people.”

“Makes sense, I suppose,” Sebastian said and then decided that he really needed to make one point clear, which he hadn’t with Magnussen because he’d been desperate for any work. “Look, I realize that I’m not in the strongest position here.” Donald snickered but then tried to hide it quickly. “But I don’t like petty criminal work. I’m military and a certain level at that.” Donald nodded. “I like to be challenged.”

“So no mugging grandma for the two pounds in her change purse for you?”

“No!” Sebastian stated emphatically.

“It’s not a problem,” Donald stated and his expression turned serious. “This isn’t petty crime. This is the premier league. Our playground is not the streets or a warehouse. It’s the world. If you want to be challenged, you will be.”

Sebastian decided that perhaps this new opportunity might just be worth it despite how they had met. “Is that a threat or a promise?” he asked and smirked.

“Both…”


	3. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian wakes up in his flat and slowly starts putting the pieces of what happened back together. A headache and texts from Donald don't help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a hiatus that was entirely too long (my fault- I don't multitask all that well and I was writing [Masquerade](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13294803/chapters/30425013) and [Unmasked](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14807870/chapters/34262282%22) which are now complete), I am officially working on this story again.
> 
> I did edit chapters 1 and 2 slightly so you may want to reread them. The only significant change is that Magnussen is paying Seb a different amount.

**The Morning After**

Sebastian slowly awoke. He was in his bed, wearing only his briefs, and was groggy as well as disoriented. Plus, his head was pounding. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes and sat up. His stomach didn’t appreciate that but he took a deep breath to steady himself. Noticing a glass of water and a bottle of paracetamol that was not his on the trunk that served as a nightstand, he reached for both. The water was room temperature and the bottle was sealed. 

“Thoughtful…” he muttered under his breath and took two pills while trying to remember what had happened. Magnussen. A mission. Sweet little Donald. An allergic reaction to food laced with chamomile. Not so sweet little Donald. It all felt a bit overwhelming. He was alone in his flat and safe. That’s all that mattered. He’d analyze the rest later. Taking another deep breath, he finished the water and looked about for his phone. It lay next to the small lamp on his nightstand along with the vase of brightly colored tulips that Donald had said were for him. Why were the tulips in his apartment? Why hadn’t he noticed them before?

Sebastian swung his legs off the bed, set the glass and paracetamol back down, and picked up his phone. The first thing that he saw were notifications of texts from Donald. “I just don’t want to know…” he grumbled out loud.

Good afternoon! -DM

I assume you slept in! -DM

I added myself as a contact but you should delete all these texts. -DM

I hope you’re feeling better! -DM

With an exasperated sigh, Sebastian set the phone on his bed and got up. There were more texts but he was of no mind to continue reading until the painkiller took effect and he’d taken a shower. Breakfast or something in his stomach might be needed as well, although if the texts continued in a similar fashion and his stomach didn’t settle down, Sebastian might vomit. He slowly stood up and set about getting his day started.

~

After a short shower that lasted as long as the hot water in his shitty flat did, getting dressed in cargo pants and a tee, and making himself the last packet of instant cream of wheat and a pot of tea, Sebastian felt almost ready to face the seemingly endless barrage of texts. Almost. He retrieved the brightly colored flowers from his bedroom and poured himself a mug of tea. “Why are you here?” he muttered at the flowers as he started eating.

Check out the pictures of dead me! -DM

K did those and did a great job! -DM

Sebastian forced himself to remember everything, every little detail of what had happened when he’d woken up after the allergic reaction. Donald McMurrogh had brought him somewhere and conscripted him into working for him. That was a bit better than dead. While work was work and he hadn’t been all that fond of, no, strike that, he’d despised Magnussen, conscription was not on his top twenty list of things that he wanted to have happen. Ever.

Donny was cute _and_ dangerous, however. That was an intoxicating combination as far as Seb was concerned. He supposed that if he could get some _benefits_ , then the whole situation might work out. Friends with benefits could be tricky. Blackmailed with benefits was easier; the bullet didn’t come with guilt. 

Sebastian shook his head to clear it of wayward thoughts. He was working on call for Magnussen. He was also working for cute, adorable, I-need-to-fuck-him-but-he-nearly-killed-me-with-chamomile-Donald in direct antagonism of Magnussen, maybe other assignments as well. Fabulous. He would have two contacts: Donald himself and someone named K, who had apparently made Donald dead better than he had. Back to the litany of texts.

I left you the flowers to brighten your day. -DM

I ♥ tulips! -DM

I’m sorry about the chamomile. -DM

I knew you were going to try and kill me and I didn’t know if I’d like you. -DM

Arching an eyebrow, Sebastian finished his tea and poured himself another mug. He wasn’t quite sure how anyone could have any thoughts about a potential assassin other than to kill first but he supposed that it was to his benefit that Mr. McMurrogh had decided to employ him rather than finish him off. He certainly wouldn’t have afforded Donald that courtesy.

Sebastian sipped his tea and switched over to look at the pictures that had been sent to Magnussen. They were realistic. Donald was convincingly dead. One shot, middle of the forehead. Seb enlarged the photos. This K person had truly done a good job. He checked his contacts and sure enough there were three new ones. Donald McMurrogh. K. M Network. What the bloody fuck was M Network? Sebastian finished his mug of tea and poured himself more to finish the pot. “Fuck,” he grumbled at nothing in particular. 

Setting his phone down, he stood, stretched, and made himself another pot of tea. Grocery shopping needed to happen. He was almost out of loose tea. After opening the refrigerator and staring at the gaping void, he decided to make himself some scrambled eggs with red peppers and onions. Tescos had had red peppers in the half-off bin and they hadn’t been all that bad. 

Sitting down with the second part of his breakfast, Sebastian quickly tapped out a shopping list and then remembered Magnussen’s check. It was still in his wallet. Thank goodness. He deposited it into his account and decided that he’d plan what to pay off first after he bought groceries and thought about the best course of action for a man in his situation. Back to Donald’s texts.

I did end up liking you quite a bit!! -DM

I told my boss ALL about you! -DM

I know he’s going to like you! -DM

I think he may have something for you. -DM

Sebastian groaned as he was forced to focus on the fact that he didn’t exactly work for cute if-he-hadn’t-fed-me-chamomile-then-I could-have-easily-killed-him-Donald all the time but whoever the man worked for as well. Closing his eyes, he remembered expressly agreeing to work for them. He didn’t like not knowing who else Donald worked for but he’d deal with that later. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered under his breath. Donny said jump, Seb would jump, and not only would he be paid to jump but he wouldn’t be fed allergens. That arrangement would work until Seb could eliminate them all and retire in style.

Are you hungry? -DM

Text me when you’re up and I’ll send you something yummy! -DM

No chamomile. Promise -DM

“Now you ask! I just ate,” Sebastian grumbled at his phone. However, food was food, and if he didn’t have to pay for it, even better.

I’m up and I’d love some food. Just don’t kill me with it. -SM

After their conversation the previous evening, Donald had explained that Sebastian would be sedated and returned to his apartment. Seb had expressed a distaste for not being conscious but he’d had no leverage to bargain otherwise. He supposed he should be grateful that he’d been returned to his apartment safe and sound but he was still displeased with how the evening had turned out. A few minutes later he received a reply.

Sent!! -DM

No chamomile. -DM

Sebastian rolled his eyes and finished his eggs. After everything, he wasn’t worried. If how-on-this-bloody-earth-did-he-even-know-about-the chamomile-Donald hadn’t killed him when he’d been at a severe disadvantage, then he doubted the food this time would be contaminated. Plus, he sensed that if Donny wanted him to die, he’d probably want to watch. He’d been adorable that way. Sebastian made a mental note to check his flat for cameras.

After finishing his mug of tea, he replied and hoped he could be done with texting. His headache was making it hard to think.

Thanks. -SM

Are you well enough for an extra job? -DM

“Can I just say no?” Sebastian growled at the phone. “You damn near fucking killed me when I was supposed to be the one killing you and because of that I’m all drugged up and have a headache. Now you want me to be in top form.” He stared at his empty plate. “Maybe after I eat whatever you send. If it doesn’t kill me. Because if you expect me to do anything more than a three letter word that starts with an n and ends with a p, you are out of your vindaloo-lamb-eating mind.”

Sure. -SM

I’ll send you a file. Memorize it. Delete it. -DM

Let me know if you need clarifications. -DM

Show time is tonight. -DM

And just like that, in his mind, cute Donald morphed into the man that had fed him chamomile and had the eyes of a killer. Sebastian sighed. “I am _so_ fucked…”


	4. Murder He Executed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian goes on his first assignment for Donald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep in mind that Sebastian is not the most reliable narrator right now.
> 
> TW: A fairly clinical description of murder near the end of the chapter.

**Murder He Executed**

Despite a headache that refused to quit, Sebastian decided to wait for whatever food Donald had sent before he took a nap. Then he decided that his time waiting was better spent looking at the file and determining how long he could postpone the assignment in favor of that long or even longer nap. 

It seemed fairly straightforward. Charles Eastman, a mid-level executive officer at the Bank of England, had been embezzling money to keep his mistress happy and his wife in the dark. There was an extensive list of his transactions. The bank had eventually noticed but instead of releasing him had simply made it nearly impossible for him to make funds vanish and was forcing him to reimburse them slowly. Excellent damage control. 

However, someone, other than Mr. Eastman, was displeased about the situation and had decided that extreme termination was the necessary answer. Sebastian could work with that. Employment was a good thing. 

Seb looked over the addresses provided. The information was thorough. Work, home, extra flat, tennis club, yacht club, golf club, and several spas. “Ridiculous,” he muttered as he skimmed the remaining details and dozens of photographs. Sweet, murderous Donny had truly outdone himself.

One bit of information caught his eye. The man had tickets to Wicked at the Apollo Victoria Theatre, that evening, seats in the Stalls, F24 and F25. Very nice. Obviously that’s what Donald had meant by his last text regarding _show time_.

Closing his eyes, Sebastian tried to paint a mental picture of the man and what his daily routine would be. Charlie-plays-the-field was a fraud through and through. After a few minutes Seb’s thoughts were interrupted by his buzzer and the delivery of food. Donald hadn’t failed him, although Sebastian wasn’t sure he appreciated the man’s sense of humor. 

The order was from _Mountain View_. Seb had to fight off the temptation to simply kill the delivery person on point. Onion bhaji appetizer, lamb jalfrezi, thukpa, of course, the little shit, he’d probably enjoyed Seb’s attempt at seduction a bit too much, and peshwari naan. Seb eyed the naan. That just might be reason enough to forgive Donald. Peshwari naan was one of his favorites.

After sampling everything, all delicious, and finishing the naan, he put the meal in the refrigerator, sent Donald another thank you text, and started analyzing the assignment once more. Embezzlement was a solid reason for having a man killed but that didn’t really matter to Seb. He frowned. There really were a lot of details regarding the motive. Too many.

There were also quite a few addresses. “I don’t need all these options,” he grumbled. Sebastian noted that in the morass of information and details, there were no instructions and no deadlines. That was odd. Donald had mentioned the show that evening and he’d been given very specific details about that implying that was when he was supposed to terminate Mr. Eastman. Killing someone sitting in the front, damn near the stage, in a theater full of people was insanely difficult. Even a silencer made a specific, recognizable, noise.

Sebastian felt his headache returning despite the paramcetacol and drank a large glass of water before texting Donald.

Are there specific instructions with this assignment? -SM

No. Just get the job done ASAP. -DM

Sebastian stared at the reply and, while it all seemed simple enough, he felt that he was missing something.

Any deadline? -SM

ASAP -DM

“Well, fuck, I got that the first time,” Seb growled. He rose and retrieved the jalfrezi from the refrigerator. It was still a bit warm but he gave it a slight reheat in the microwave. Spicy food helped him think if he didn’t have a headache. This jalfrezi was authentically hot. Headache be damned, he really needed to concentrate. After taking another paramcetacol, he sent Donald a generic reply.

Okay. I’ll be in touch. -SM

As he ate, Sebastian started noticing just how raw his throat really was from being intubated and whatever else they had done to him. Great. Seb kept eating. He was recovering from anaphylaxis and desperately needed real rest. Even though he was functional, he still had narcotics circulating in his system and once those wore off, he’d be feeling awful for days and in ways that over the counter meds wouldn’t help. Closing his eyes, Seb realized that despite his current exhaustion, the longer he waited, the harder the hit would be to carry out. It simply couldn’t wait. His nap would have to. Fuck bribes-me-with-peshwari-naan-needs-him-killed-ASAP-Donald.

It was just over four hours to the start of the show. Where would Charles Eastman be? Either playing good husband for his wife or cozying up with the mistress. Sebastian guessed the latter but he wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. After retrieving his laptop from the bedroom, he looked up all the locations that he’d been given and plotted the easiest routes to and from them all.

Preparing for the mission energized him, just like it always did. Excitement thrummed through him and his focus became crystal clear. Google Street View showed him what the areas looked like and where the best lines of sight could potentially be. Something was still not adding up but Sebastian decided not to worry about it. He had enough information to complete the assignment. If something became a problem, he’d deal with it as needed, and as efficiently and/or violently as necessary.

Once he felt that he had formed an adequate course of action, he returned the uneaten food to the refrigerator, finished his tea, and changed into clothes that could mostly pass in an upper middle class neighborhood and the environs of the Apollo Victoria. His Mk4 Rimfire tucked invisibly under his sportcoat. Sig Sauer hidden at his waist. Several concealed knives. Lockpicks. Gloves. A roll of masking tape and a strong laser pointer for security cameras. Cash for taxis. Cartier sunglasses. Sebastian was ready.

~

Sebastian’s first stop was Charles Eastman’s home, a semi-detached townhouse close to the Bank of England offices. Ducking the CCTV cameras in this part of London was a bit of a nuisance but Seb was sure that he managed. Determining whether the man was home would prove more difficult as there was still daylight and a well-dressed man hopping from firescapes to balconies might draw a bit of attention.

After pondering the situation for a moment, inspiration struck. Sebastian found the location of the nearest bookstore and acquired a Bible. “I’m fucking brilliant when I’ve been given narcotics,” he said under his breath. He rang the doorbell and smiled amicably when a petite blonde woman wearing a powder blue shift dress answered the door. “Hello, ma’am.” Why is that cretin even looking at anything else when he’s got this adorable little number here?

“Hello…” the woman said questioningly but Sebastian could tell that she was taking him in. Perhaps he’d have to comfort the grieving widow afterward. After his nap.

“I’m here from the Church of the Good Book of Jesus,” Sebastian said, waving the Bible, and noticed her eyes drifting from him to the book to his crotch. “Is your husband in? I’d love to talk to you both about the power of the…” Damn, her pretty blue eyes, blatantly looking at him _there_ , were distracting. “Book.” Sebastian smiled sweetly, trying to pretend that he actually was an easily embarrassed, innocent, religious type, and focused on what he needed to do. 

“My husband is at the office, working late,” she said demurely. Good, good. That meant that good-time-Charlie was shagging his side piece. “But I’d love to have a private lesson with you on the power of the... book.”

“Uhhhhh… I can come back,” Seb stammered.

Her hand casually shifted from her side to the front of her dress at just the right place. “I’m sure I’d learn more of the teachings without him,” she said and her hand seemed to push between her legs just a little.

Sebastian forced his eyes to widen with surprise even though he could think of several things he’d want to do with her. “Uhhhhh… this is the wrong book,” he said, trying to maintain an utterly naive air. “But, sure, yeah, in that case, I need to get the other book of power, the one that works for women. _This_ is the men’s book.”

“I’d love to learn about that book, one on one,” she whispered and drew her hand up her abdomen until it rested on her breasts. “I’m sure you know your material well and are an excellent teacher. I’m sure you’ll drive the lessons home...” She subtly squeezed her left breast through her dress.

“I’ll go get the right book!” Sebastian exclaimed. “Give me a minute, okay!” He took a few steps back and stared pointedly at her chest as though she had thoroughly distracted him. He then looked up, smiled as confusedly as possible, and ran off while reminding himself to avoid the cameras.

Once he made his way to a deserted alley, he tossed the book away and banished all thoughts of giving her a good rogering. Charlie E. was a complete idiot. He pulled out his phone and determined the fastest way to get to the mistress’s flat. Flats were easier. He could pick the lock to get into the building, bother neighbors to access balconies, pretend to be delivering takeaway, or simply break the door down.

The ride in the taxi was interesting. If Sebastian leaned his head backwards and closed his eyes, the combination of fatigue and narcotics overwhelmed his senses and it felt as though he were lazily floating in a universe where nothing mattered. It took Sebastian longer than he wanted to come back to reality when the taxi reached its destination.

Even though the building was modern and luxurious, Sebastian easily picked the back door lock and gleefully noted the absence of security cameras. Since he was sure should-be-shagging-his-wife-Charlie was there, he carefully made his way up the stairs and then down the hall to the apartment. Once he reached the door, he paused to listen and heard muffled sounds of laughter from inside. Perfect.

Sebastian easily picked the lock and then slowly opened the door while checking for cameras inside the apartment. None at the entrance. The entryway led to a tastefully decorated greatroom and to the left was the bedroom. Still no cameras. Seb drew his Rimfire. The bedroom door was ajar. He heard a male voice shout the typical male sex gibberish of oh, yeah, baby, blah, blah, blah. At least Mr. Eastman would die happy.

As he pushed the bedroom door open, Seb simultaneously wondered what he’d do if someone ever barged in on him mid-fuck, how cute adorable Donald would feel like with him pounding into him, and what in the everlasting bloody fuck he could be missing because he knew that he was still missing _something_.

The man looked up. Identity confirmed, Charles Eastman. He was thrusting inside a well-endowed woman whose back was arched in a very sensual curve. Sebastian shot her in the head first. Women tended to scream. The second bullet struck Charles in the middle of the forehead and the third hit his heart. He fell silently on top of the woman.

Sebastian paused a few moments to see if either of them moved. He didn’t expect that they would; he could make a shot from over a mile away. This was child’s play. When neither of them moved or showed signs of breathing, he quickly searched the apartment. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was very feminine and seemed to have hints of Basque in the decorations.

Something, however, did catch his eye. On the kitchen table, next to a bouquet of red roses that Sebastian deemed not as pretty as his tulips. Behind a box of cupcakes from Crumbs & Doilies and underneath a set of keys. Tickets to the theatre for Wicked with a note written in cutesy cursive on the envelope.   
  
_Enjoy the show! -Don_  
  
Sebastian’s eyes widened. “The little weasel,” he muttered while appreciating how elegantly the hit had been set up.

And then he realized what had been missing: entirely-too-cute-and-smart-for-his-own-damn-good-Donald had set everything up to see what he would do. It had been a multiple choice test with no wrong answer except get caught. Shaking his head, he grabbed the tickets as he left.

What time shall I pick you up? -SM


	5. Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Donald go on a date.

**Wicked**

 

It turned out that Donald had preferred to pick him up. 

I’ll pick you up at your place in an hour. -DM

Sebastian supposed that was for the better. There were probably a lot of good reasons, such as Sebastian’s lack of personal transportation, and many more bad ones but he relegated them to irrelevant since not a one was screaming too loudly at him.

Have you seen _Wicked_? -DM

Sebastian stared at his phone while automatically avoiding a CCTV camera and then flagging a taxi. After giving his address, he tapped out a reply.

I had a job interview with Mr. Magnussen. I think that qualifies. -SM

You sort of had a teensy one with me as well. -DM

Sebastian chuckled.

That doesn’t count. Tulips. *tasty* Bengali food. AND tickets to a show. -SM

I’m good that way. -DM

Sebastian smirked. He supposed that if he didn’t think too seriously about cute-but-will-probably-kill-me-Donald then his life could be considered to be going in a positive direction.

I’ll bet you are. -SM

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head backwards. “What the fuck am I really doing?” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m sorry, sir, did you want something?” the cabbie asked.

Shaking his head, Seb replied, “No, talking to myself.” 

*~*~*

The theater was dark and one of the leads, blond-curly-hair-bouncing-ditzy-Galinda-witch-with-a-squeaky-voice, was giving Sebastian a headache. His throat was starting to hurt more. Finally he gave in and coughed as gently as he could manage so as to not disturb anyone in the theater, or Donald, who was adorably resting his head on Seb’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he whispered and noted that his voice was starting to sound worse.

“Do you need another painkiller?” Donald whispered sweetly as Elphaba, the green one, began singing _The Wizard and I_.

“I shouldn’t,” Seb replied just as quietly. “I’ll be fine.”

“But your throat...”

“Narcotics make me loopy,” Sebastian pointed out. They actually didn’t affect him all that much but his better judgment was advising against them. And he knew that he needed his better judgment, common sense, or any type of sense around Donald McMurrogh.

“That might be fun.”

“I don’t know. I suppose if you redefined loopy as fun, then maybe.”

Donald giggled softly. “I usually do.”

“Shhh,” a female voice behind them shushed them. Sebastian was about to tell the woman in no uncertain terms that they had been whispering but he felt Donald tense and opted to remain still and observe.

Donald lifted his head off of Seb’s shoulder slowly, like a coiling serpent, and then turned his neck to stare at the person. Sebastian kept his head facing forward but, out of the corner of his eye, watched as Donald’s expression, subtly and without any facial movement, morphed into something cold and terrifying.

“Sodomites,” the woman hissed but Sebastian heard the underlying fear in her voice. Slowly, he turned as well and took in all of her features. Rich, arrogant, new money, social climber. Donald patted his leg and both turned back to watch Elphaba and Galinda.

“Did you know,” Donald said in an even more hushed tone than before. “That the name Elphaba comes from the phonetic pronunciation of Baum's initials LFB?”

Sebastian thought about it for a moment and it made his head hurt a bit more. He blamed the fatigue but, once he got it, he was fairly impressed. “What’s _your_ middle name?” he asked.

“Not telling.”

“No fun.”

“I’ll make you regret saying that.”

Sebastian realized that those words were probably true but that wasn’t going to stop him. “I look forward to it.” Donald was too cute and deadly to not tease.

“Good,” Donald purred huskily and that sound made Sebastian shudder. The cadence and timbre of Donald’s voice went straight to his cock. Fortunately Donald changed the subject. “We were discussing pain management before we were rudely interrupted.” He handed Sebastian two pills. “Take these.” He then handed Seb his gin and tonic.

Seb decided that he really didn’t want to know. Donald had had plenty of chances to kill him before; he didn’t think the man would do it in such a boring manner. Cute-adorable-turns-into-a-viper-in-a-split-second-Donald seemed to like things done with a certain style. “Sure,” he said cheerfully and swallowed the pills with a sip of the drink. 

Donald patted his leg again, took his drink back, and then handed him a small packet. It felt like a eyeglass case. He put it in the pocket of his sportcoat. Donald slid his hand back on top of Seb’s leg. His cock liked that development but instead Donald started tapping out Morse code. _Aggots_. Seb closed his eyes while trying to determine what that word meant while following the next word. _Tubocurare_. Sebastian’s eyes widened slightly. Donald had to be referring to the people behind them and Seb must have missed the M of the first word. The second word and its implication were clear as day. Fabulous.

Seb felt the painkillers start to work. Even more fantastic. Curare was not something to fumble with even on a good day, which meant that he needed to move quickly. Time to play the bumbling idiot. He rose clumsily as he started walking down the row toward the exit. “Sorry,” he said a bit too loudly. “I gotta piss like a racehorse.” Several people around him gasped. When he reached the end of the row, he turned, winked at Donald, and made his way to the bathroom.

Once safely hidden in a stall, he opened the case. Three small blowguns that at a distance or in the dark looked like cigarettes. Six small wooden darts that looked more like large thorns. Silently calculating the force he’d need to expel the projectiles for close distances, he carefully loaded one in each gun and then noted the orientation of the remaining darts so that he could safely manipulate them in the dark if needed.

He assumed that Donald only wanted the woman killed. Two spouses dying on the same night might draw some unwanted attention. He supposed if Donald wanted the husband eliminated as well, he could do it later. After a nap.

Sebastian waited until the next number, something about the green one defying gravity, and entered the theater from an entrance further back. As soon as he was close and had a clear line of sight, he shot the woman in the back of the neck, right between two large pearls in her necklace. She brushed her neck but didn’t react in any other way. Perfect.

Sebastian again clumsily made his way to his seat and flopped down next to Donald, who immediately lowered his head to his shoulder and rubbed it with his cheek. Sebastian growled softly and appreciatively.

“Was two pills too much?”

“Naw, I’m good. I’m ready for flying monkeys…”

*~*~*

Intermission. Thank goodness. He only had the short half of the show, Galinda’s voice, Elphaba’s greenness, and resisting the urge to jump on stage and murder the wizard to survive. At least Donald seemed to be enjoying himself immensely and had even gotten them a whisky sour to share. After that, Galinda’s voice didn’t annoy him as much and he was enjoying pondering a lot of miniscule details such as how, exactly, Elphaba and the Scarecrow were going to shag. A straw penis didn’t seem functional. Sebastian was comfortable and eventually missed the majority of the second act as well as the medical emergency behind them. Pity; poor homophobe must have asphyxiated or had a heart attack...

Eventually they made it back to Donald’s car and Seb was sure that he pulled off the art of walking vertical admirably. Donald seemed adorably pleased about the entire evening and mentioned that Seb could rest a bit in the car. That sounded good and _inevitable_ no matter what always-in-control-Donald wanted.

Sebastian was jolted awake by someone tapping his shoulder. He tried to react but Donald was holding his arms in a way that was both unnervingly strong but also gentle. “It’s me,” Donald said while Seb took a deep breath. “We’re at our next job.”

Arching an eyebrow, Seb stared at the man sitting next to him. He no longer felt drugged or tired and nothing hurt which meant that he’d only been out for half an hour or so but he hoped the job wasn’t difficult. He didn’t want to acknowledge how sub-par he currently felt. 

There was enough ambient light from outside that he could just make out Donald’s features. Sebastian stared at him. The man seemed pensive, serious, and unguarded. There was a mix of innocence and experience, softness and hard edges, sweetness and cunning, and piercing dark eyes that burned with intelligence and something that Sebastian wanted to grab hold of and never let go. Curse the narcotics.

“What do you see?” Donald asked.

“You,” Sebastian answered without thinking. 

A genuine smile graced Donald’s lips. Sebastian had to resist the urge to kiss him. “I see the painkillers are working.”

Sebastian decided that he’d better backtrack. “As opposed to anyone else.” He flashed Donald a charming smile and quickly changed the topic of conversation. “Where are we and what are the objectives, what’s the mission? I’m ready.” There. That sounded professional.

Donald snorted. “Nice,” he murmured. Sebastian sensed that the man wasn’t too upset by his clever answer. “My ex’s house is down the block,” Donald continued and indicated a stately manor. “He’s not home right now.” He smiled wickedly. “I’ll disable all the alarms. You go in, carefully, and get the painting that he has over the fireplace in his study. It’s a Vermeer and it’s _mine_.”

The artwork had to be stolen. “And since he’s your ex, you want it back.”

“Absolutely.”

Sebastian tried to ponder the assignment and his mind seemed to refuse to function. It seemed simple enough and he really didn’t need to think about it all that much. Go in and get cute-little-art-thief-Donald’s painting. Easier than anything he’d done in the sandbox. “Are you sure he’s not home?”

“Absolutely.”

Seb’s mind went into mission mode. “You’ve confirmed the location of the item.”

“As of yesterday.”

“Do you have a picture of it?”

“Yes,” Donald replied, smiling, and immediately held up his phone showing the image of a painting: a young woman sitting at a harpsichord, a man playing the lute, and a woman singing. Sebastian memorized the image. “Does your ex have any other security besides alarms? Cameras? Motion sensors.”

Donald smiled again and seemed pleased. “I’ll disable everything.”

“CCTV?”

“Yes.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“No.”

“Anything else you want me to do while I’m there?” Seb asked. 

Donald laughed. “He’s very meticulous and precise,” he said. “Either move one thing or take one thing but make it very subtle.”

“That’s easy,” Sebastian said while picturing all the things that he could do in a manor house that reminded him so much of his family home; so many things that his father had hated and had beaten him for.

“Good, go to it.”

Sebastian opened the car door, stepped out, and closed it quietly. He suddenly sensed that Donald was testing him again and that he was missing something. Again. He hated that feeling. Curse sweet, adorable Donald. After finding cover in a nearby hedgerow, he studied the house. It seemed unoccupied, obviously owned by a wealthy person, but then he started noticing all the security enhancements. Fuck.

Donald’s ex either worked for an intelligence department, was high-level military, or was some sort of diplomat. That was going to make breaking in difficult especially since he’d had no time to study the location or layout in depth. Sneaking carefully up the hedgerow, he started observing the neighbor’s property and immediately saw signs of dogs. Double fuck.

Even though Donald had said that he would deal with the CCTV cameras, Seb decided that ducking them would optimal. He started noting each one and, much to his dismay, realized that there were almost double the normal amount on that particular street. “Bollocks,” he muttered and then took a deep breath. “I’m a bloody professional. If I can’t do this, then I deserve to be working for a slimeball like Magnussen.” Thinking of Magnussen made his stomach curdle.

After calculating the route he needed to take, he made his way to the neighbor on the other side. More dogs. The alarm bells started sounding. Clearly the man had his bodyguards and they were his neighbors. Seb couldn’t sneak in from either side without alerting the canines. That left the back or the front. Fuck it all.

Sebastian carefully made his way back to Donald’s car. The man lowered his window. Damn if that wasn’t sexy. He shot the man a look that clearly stated that he wanted to eat him alive. “Do you have a key or a code for the door?” he asked. 

Donald smirked but seemed pleased. “The code is #743756254722728,” he said. “Do you want me to enter it in when you get there?”

“No,” Seb replied. He was good with numbers especially if he didn’t think about it. “Tell me once more and I got it.”

Donald repeated the code. “I can block the alarms if you get it wrong,” he said demurely.

Seb grinned. “Naaaw, I got it,” he said. “Be back in a bit.” Donald did not seem convinced. Sebastian blew him a kiss and quickly retraced his steps. Once he was out of sight of any potential cameras that the neighbors might have, he strolled down the front walkway and reached the door.

“I got this,” he repeated closing his eyes. Just like when he was in the military. He put his fingers on the number pad, mentally heard Donald speaking the code, and his fingers danced over the keypad. The door unlocked. “Still have it,” he said quietly. 

Seb turned the handle and the door opened. He entered the foyer, closed the door quietly, and then almost laughed. The man had motion sensitive night lights in the room. Sebastian explored and eventually found the office. The piece was above the fireplace, as promised. Tempted as he was to simply grab the painting, he examined it first and noticed that there was a sensor on it. A weight sensor.

“The bastard’s sort of clever,” he muttered and carefully placed his hands on both sides of the painting to estimate its weight. A quick search of the house found another painting of similar weight with no security on it. Swapping them took a bit of maneuvering but Seb felt that he had managed it adequately since no alarms triggered. “I better get a bonus from has-bad-taste-in-men-Donald.”

Looking around the room, he pondered what subsequent mischief he could inflict on the ex. The man had nice pens. He could steal one. His own Mont Blanc was still at his father’s home and he couldn’t retrieve it without seeing the man. Donald’s ex had Macallan scotch and silver tips Darjeeling tea. A beverage might be pleasant and would certainly annoy the man. There were other paintings and certificates in the office. He could tip them ever so slightly. That normally elicited a crisis in his father.

Inspiration was, however, on holiday. Sebastian pulled out the man’s leather chair, sat down, and put his feet up on the desk. His father would have kittens if someone did that in his office. Closing his eyes, he momentarily sank into the lethargic sensation of fatigue and narcotics. It was blissful. “I’m fucking brilliant when I’ve been given narcotics,” he whispered and tried to marshall his thoughts despite his body screaming for rest.

After what seemed to be a moment but Sebastian guessed was entirely too long, he thought about his friend, Sir Gregory Allen, formerly a captain in RAS, now in MI5. He said that everyone in intelligence had a secret safe behind the bottom left drawer of their desk. Seb opened his eyes, squinted suspiciously at the desk, and let his feet fall to the floor.

After picking the lock, he opened the drawer, examined it, and discovered a secret compartment behind it. “How fastidiously unoriginal,” he muttered, while popping the back piece off and disengaging the drawer stops. His expression of accomplishment quickly turned to dismay. Hidden there were three packages of iced ginger spice biscuits, four packages of double chocolate Milanos, and several bars of gourmet chocolate.

Sebastian took a biscuit from the opened package of Milanos and pocketed one of the chocolate bars: dark chocolate, sea salt, and almond truffle. “Guy has taste,” he said to himself. “But there has to be more.” He absentmindedly wondered if eating a biscuit _and_ stealing a bar of chocolate counted as one or two things. He ate another biscuit. Fuck numerical convention.

He stared at the drawer for several moments and then tapped on the bottom. Hollow. “Gotcha,” he said. After emptying the contents, he removed the bottom and found a stick drive. Pursing his lips, he contemplated the situation. Stealing the stick drive wasn’t in the fun, annoying things that Donald had requested he do to torment his ex. But it might be important. And valuable. And might get him not only some appreciation but also an extended stay in Donald’s bed.

Seb eyed the stick drive. It _had_ to be important. He put it in his pocket and then set about reassembling the drawer while wondering if that was four things or if he could still get away with counting it as one. His thoughts were slowing and he started to feel fatigued. But he didn’t hurt. Bless those narcotics.

Somehow he made it back to Donald’s car without breaking anything or setting anything off. Somehow he handed Donald the stick drive, the bar of chocolate, and mumbled something about an iced ginger spiced biscuit and double chocolate Milanos. Somehow he decided that Donald needed some cuddling and pulled the man into an embrace. Somehow he fell into a luxurious bed. _Finally_.


	6. Breakfast at Donald's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian wakes up in Donald's flat and they talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up. I'll definitely try to get another up before Yule.
> 
> Also, please note that both Seb and Donald don't exactly know where they stand with each other and so the conversation is a bit erratic and jumpy.

**Breakfast at Donald's**

Sebastian woke sometime in the middle of the night feeling comfortable and refreshed. The sheets were soft and silky, the comforter was just heavy enough, and he was curled around a petit warm body. Perfection. He pulled the person close, decided not to worry about the fact that he didn’t remember who it was- unimportant really- and fell back asleep.

The next time consciousness returned, he felt completely rested and energized, smelled coffee and cinnamon, which made his stomach rumble with anticipation, and really needed to use the bathroom. Sitting up and looking about, he realized that he had no idea where he was but he wasn’t restrained and he could see a bathroom door. That was all that mattered at the moment. 

Despite feeling a little dizzy when he stood, he made it to the bathroom and marveled at its minimalistic luxury. Seb eyed the shower. “Half my old unit could fit in there,” he mumbled under his breath. Noticing a bathrobe hanging on the shower door that seemed like it should fit him, he decided that was all the invitation he needed.

The shower was just as glorious as he expected and, as the water cascaded over him, Sebastian slowly took stock of the situation. Besides being adorable and deadly, little Donald was clearly successful at crime or whatever else he did to be able to afford this place. He was mercurial and a charming chameleon. Sebastian did feel that, even through his prior haze of narcotics, he’d seen bits and hints of the real Donald. “Snipers see everything,” he quietly sang into the water. “Even you, my sweet little enigma.”

After absentmindedly wondering what time it was and if Donald would pay him decently, he made use of the shower gel and shampoo that smelled of lavender and burnt wood. Sebastian found it intriguing. It suited Donald perfectly.

Easily switching from affable and adorable to cunning and murderous and everything in between, Donald challenged Seb’s jaded views of normalcy and seemed to demand excellence from him. He craved the opportunity to use all his skills to their utmost. 

The look that Donald had given the homophobic woman had been that of a killer but he had also sweetly lain his head on Sebastian’s shoulder and hadn’t refuted any narcotic-induced snuggling. Seb smiled. Donald truly was just the right size for optimal cuddling.

Cuddling and murder. Within the past twelve hours, eyes-like-liquid-chocolate-will-seduce-me-every-time-Donald had ordered the deaths of two people, engineered an art heist and that didn’t include the previous day’s events where Seb had nearly become the victim. “He’s going to be the death of me,” he muttered as he rinsed his hair. “And I might just enjoy every minute of it.”

After an exceedingly long shower, he toweled dry and slipped into the bathrobe that fit perfectly. He then looked around once more and noticed that not only was everything luxurious and meticulously clean but it seemed _new_. No dust in the hidden corners and crevices and the places where people didn’t clean. No scratches on anything from use. No water stains. No chipping in the grout. Donald had either just moved in or recently refurbished. Interesting.

Sebastian followed the scent of coffee and cinnamon out of the bathroom. Bacon. There was now bacon in the mix. If everything tasted as good as it smelled, combined with his not having had to cook it, life would be grand. Even if he had a new mystery to solve regarding Mr. enigma-in-a-darling-package-Donald. 

Seb walked into a modern equally new kitchen and was greeted by the site of a perfect derriere in form-fitting jeans with the owner bending over to open the oven door. Sebastian whistled lowly.

Turning his head, Donald looked him up and down, blew him a kiss, and pulled a tray of cinnamon rolls out of the oven. “Ready to eat something ooey and gooey?” he asked quite properly.

“Only if it’s _bursting_ with flavor,” Sebastian teased.

“There’s plenty of cinnamon, real cinnamon, in this,” Donald noted while setting the tray on a trivet on the table. “Have a seat and tell me how you’d like your eggs and toast done.”

The table was set for two. “Prepared by you and not me,” he said, smirking. “That’s really all that matters. Beyond that I’m not a bit fussy at all.” He noted a teapot that was steaming and filled two mugs with tea.

“Not helpful,” Donald grumbled but Sebastian could tell that he was amused. Seb shrugged. Donald picked up a spatula and pointed it at him. “Fine, but you better not complain afterward.”

“If anyone else cooks it, the last thing _I’m_ going to do is complain,” Seb professed. After about ten minutes of being tortured by the smell of the cinnamon rolls in front of him and resisting the urge to eat the entire tray, he was presented with a plate laden with food. 

Sebastian eyed it intently while cute-but-who-the-hell-knew-that-the-man-could-cook-Donald sat down across from him. Even his nanny, years ago, had never presented him with such a masterpiece. Still, he couldn’t resist teasing Donald. “Is this a mutt?” he asked seriously, looking up. Donald glared at him. “Half Irish, half English, and not quite full? Do I need to complain?”

“Do you have a death wish?” Donald asked sweetly.

Smiling wickedly, Sebastian started pointing to various items. “Fried eggs, bacon, ubiquitous, fine. Soda bread, clearly Irish, toasted on one side, English. A lot of places don’t do that right.” Donald giggled while Seb continued, “Bangers, English; potato farls, Irish. No pudding of any color, serious lack.”

“I despise _drisheen_ as well as the British equivalent,” Donald noted coldly although his eyes twinkled with amusement. 

“No tomatoes.”

“Couldn’t be arsed when I was busy with those.” Donald pointed to the cinnamon rolls. 

“No beans.”

“I won’t cook beans without streaky bacon and I finished off the last package of that two days ago.”

“And none of my absolute favorites, mushrooms or asparagus.”

“I finished my remaining mushrooms the other day as well. Bacon and mushroom pizza.” Donald smiled coyly and Sebastian found himself wishing that he could have had some of that combination: Donald and bacon and mushroom pizza prepared by could-have-killed-me-with-chamomile-but-feeds-me-instead-Donald. 

“And who in their right mind eats asparagus?”

“Asparagus is good for you,” Seb said and forced himself not to laugh at the look of horror that crossed Donald’s face. “I’ll cook it for you sometime.”

“Asparagus will never appear in my kitchen so... _nyet_.”

“That’s Russian and you don’t know what you’re missing.”

“I do and that entire tray of cinnamon sin should more than make up for any perceived lack of anything including green alien stalks that taste like dead iguana molding over.”

Seb chuckled but then conceded, “Sin does make up for everything.”

“Go ahead,” Donald indicated that he should start. “If it’s too difficult to swallow, I can make you some oats or cream of wheat.”

“I’ll be fine. The curry yesterday didn’t kill me.”

“True,” Donald agreed. “We need to talk afterward.”

“We can talk now, no point in waiting,” Sebastian said while serving himself a portion of four cinnamon rolls. Donald’s eyes widened. “Want some?” he asked with as much innocence as he could manage.

“One… please,” Donald murmured.

Sebastian found himself wanting to ask so many questions but forced himself to start with what he felt was most important. “Who do you work for?”

Donald winced. “Maybe we should start with an easy question.”

“No need for useless prattle.” Sebastian took a bite of egg and toast, noted hints of olive oil, and decided that it was, quite possibly, the best he’d ever tasted in his life, bar none.

“Efficient.”

“Thank you. Now, who do you work for? It doesn’t matter all that much to me but I don’t like having so many unknowns.” 

“That’s really classified... information,” Donald replied but then sighed and continued, “I work for several people in Russia, in other European countries, and I have one employer stateside.”

“And what about the curare?”

“What about it?” Donald asked hesitantly.

Sebastian eyed him sternly and then tried a bite of the sausage. Delicious. Plump, juicy, and with just enough char. “What do you do that requires you to have curare on your person when you go to the theater? That’s an exotic toxin. It’s difficult to obtain and you casually have it in your sport coat pocket.”

Donald’s eyes widened and then took on a completely innocent quality. Seb continued to marvel at those lightning fast changes. Most people wouldn’t notice. “It’s for protection,” Donald said softly. “The guy in the States got it for me and said it was for emergencies.”

Seb’s eyes narrowed as he tried the potato farls. That was a very good _non-answer_ meant to confuse stupid people along with the docile, innocent mannerisms that he knew he’s-leagues-apart-from-anyone-I’ve-worked-for-before-Donald was trying to use on him. “What. Do. You. Do?”

“The... books?”

“Why does a bookkeeper need curare for protection during emergencies? What sort of emergencies do you run into?” Seb pressed. “And how could that ridiculous homophobe be considered an emergency?”

“She was using up everyone else’s oxygen…” Donald noted very primly.

“I agree. But I’m not stupid, you know.”

“I never considered you to be,” Donald murmured.

“Then stop this codswallop, alright,” Sebastian said. “I don’t need to know everything. I don’t need to know details. But I like you. You’re fun and this has been interesting but I want to feel comfortable working for you. For real. I need to be able to trust you on some level. I’m. Not. Stupid.” 

Donald seemed to shrink inside himself and looked away. “Sorry,” Sebastian muttered. “That was a bit strong.” Donald looked back at him with sweet wide eyes. Curse him. “You’re still not fooling me. I don’t need the sweet and innocent or any other routine,” Seb grumbled. “I’m not incompetent but you had the wherewithal to disable me within the first hour of our meeting. That takes a bit more than simply cooking the books. That screams a network or organization and competence as well as the ability to adapt and think on your feet.” Donald’s expression became serious and lost some of its shyness.

Seb continued, “You then brought me somewhere secure that even if I hadn’t been disabled, I would’ve had to actually _try_ to get out.” 

“Only try?” Donald teased.

“And you had access to damn good medical.”

“Precaution…?”

“And I’m grateful, mind you,” Sebastian said. “But again, bookkeeper? Not so much.” Donald had the decency to look guilty. “Then I’m working for you and I have another contact, presumably in a different time zone so there’s minimal overlap.”

“K is stateside. Seattle.”

“That’s pretty much twenty-four hour coverage, and again, speaks to organization, and intelligent forethought,” Seb continued while Donald poured them both more tea. “Then two difficult assignments and a seemingly spontaneous elimination coupled with your ability to change from sweet and harmless, as one would expect a bookkeeper to be, to cold and ruthless, like, say, a crime boss, someone definitely in charge.” Donald pursed his lips. “Yes, I saw that.”

Donald lifted his mug of tea to his lips. “The more you know, the more dangerous it becomes for _you_ ,” he said quietly.

“I want to trust you,” Seb murmured. “Despite the fact that I tried to kill you, you not only did not return the favor but you treated me fairly, not like I’m disposable, and, well, the assignments were respectable.”

“I wouldn’t have you take out a helpless bookkeeper who was expected to have a secret meeting with you.” Donald’s eyes glinted mischievously.

“Too easy and rather mundane and plebeian.” Sebastian smirked. 

“And doesn’t involve anything cool like a toxin that inhibits the nicotinic acetylcholine receptor,” Donald added.

“Anything else would be utterly pedestrian.” Both chuckled. 

“I don’t _just_ do the books,” Donald finally admitted. “If any of this gets out, no matter how much I like you, I will skin you. Is that clear?”

Seb grinned. He liked that. Alot. He had no doubts that Donald would do that if necessary. “Sure,” he said, nodding. Boredom was for lesser men. “I had to keep my mouth shut about a lot of what I did in the military and you don’t want to know the types of things _they_ were involved in.”

“I’m sure I already do,” Donald said and smiled adorably. 

A quiet voice in the back of his mind told Seb that he should leave while he still could. _Moth to a flame_. Seb told the voice to shut up. This was going to be fun. “So, what do you really do and where do I fit in?”

Donald shot him a lopsided smile that Sebastian was sure was half-angel half-devil, half-innocent half-murderous. “I work for a mobster out of Chicago, two Russian gangs, one in St. Petersburg, one in Novosibirsk. I freelance here in Europe. They tell me what needs to be done and I make it happen. I find the right person for the right job.”

Seb nodded. “And I’m going to be that right person on occasion?”

“Yes, if you want,” Donald answered slowly while refilling his own mug.

“How much of that do you think you’ll send my way?”

“Bored?”

“Not since I met you,” Seb replied. Donald smiled and seemed pleased as he sipped his tea. 

Sebastian ate a cinnamon roll as he thought things over and eventually decided that he’d been given enough information for now.

“Anything else,” Donald asked once Seb had taken another sip of tea.

“Yeah.” Sebastian smirked and shot Donald a smug look. “Why did you make me breakfast?” Donald’s eyes widened suspiciously at the question. “It was fantastic.”

Donald smiled but with some uncertainty, as though he weren’t used to receiving genuine compliments. “I like to cook,” he murmured with a voice that sounded both honest and shy. “And I figured I owed you. Despite the fact that you tried to kill me _first_ , I haven’t been all that nice or considerate to you.”

“Well, come on, don’t sell yourself short,” Seb retorted. “Last night I got a delicious Bengali dinner that didn’t send me into anaphylaxis. I got a job that was sort of a treasure hunt. Fun. A show. Narcotics. I don’t like or want narcotics by the way, but I’ll let it slide this time considering the intubation and the other circumstances. Three fun jobs. Pissing off an ex. Stealing his chocolate. Incoherent cuddling- thank you for indulging me. It doesn’t get any better than _that_...”

Donald laughed and shook his head. “I think I like you too…”


	7. Scavenger Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donald has work for Sebastian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TW: drug use/overdose and suicidal ideation**  
>  It's in the last section a few paragraphs after the list. 
> 
> Thanks to fabricdragon for putting fish and chips into my head.

**Scavenger Hunt**

“Time for a Snakebite,” Sebastian almost sang merrily as he eyed his pathetic flat that was now immaculately clean as well as organized. After breakfast, Donald had dropped him off and noted the sorry state of his living arrangements. Sebastian had promised to resolve it immediately, even before dropping off the papers that Donald had signed at the restaurant. Despite the main reason of pleasing Donald, once he started, Seb found that the process energized him. It gave him a feeling of accomplishment even if his flat was still a shithole. He texted Magnussen that he’d deliver the papers the following day.

Donald had helped him set up a second bank account that was virtually untraceable and had then paid him much better than Magnussen. He’d recommended that Sebastian not move out of his current abode until after he did more work for others so as to not arouse suspicion. Seb had agreed and then promptly asked Donald out for dinner. Mr. looks-just-as-sexy-in-jeans-and-an-untucked-white-button-down-as-he-does-in-a-suit-Donald had politely demurred with an explanation that since he was supposed to be dead, he did need to make certain arrangements. 

Sebastian had glumly concurred but insisted on a raincheck, which Donald had accepted. They had agreed to meet in two weeks and in the meantime, Donald would forward assignments if anything that required his particular skill set came along. Once Donald had left, Seb had started cleaning and analyzing.

It was obvious that Donald had recently moved into the flat which meant that he had expected the attempt on his life. Sebastian was impressed at Donald’s decision to not only prevent the assassination, rather effectively, but that he had also prepared for the pretense of being dead. It was brilliant.

“He’s brilliant,” Seb muttered as he retrieved the Yukon Jack. There were several ways to make a Snakebite but he made it the Canadian way in memory of a mate from Calgary, who’d been killed by an IED in the sandbox. Yukon Jack and lime, it would knock some sense into you or all of it out of you. He eyed the shot he’d just made and downed it. “I’ve lost my mind…”

*~*~*

The following day Seb dropped the packet of forms with Magnussen’s secretary and left quickly before the man decided they needed to speak in person. 

Four days later, Donald had him take care of a business man cheating on his husband in Cardiff. One easy bullet. Cheating never thrives. Although the grieving widower certainly would.

Two days after that Donald sent him to Exeter to eliminate an employee of The Fat Pig, who was suspected of being part of a sleeper cell of spies. Sebastian wondered if that made adorable-but-doesn’t-have-a-law-abiding-bone-in-his-body-Donald a bit more law abiding. He imagined there was no answer to be had on that and instead made a mental note to return to The Fat Pig in a few months. The menu looked fantastic, especially the pork dishes.

The following day, he smiled at his much healthier bank account and sent his stepmother a bouquet of flowers with yellow roses, her favorites. His father despised frivolous expenses and never did anything of that sort despite her fondness for flowers. The bastard. 

One day later Donald texted him.

CAM may contact you later today or tomorrow. -DM

Sebastian stared at the text and wondered how he should interpret that. Kill Magnussen before the text arrived? Book a ticket to Leeds? Or France? Make sure he had another good suit? It wouldn’t do to wear the same suit twice in a row, but the rest were still at his father’s home. Ask Donald out on an earlier date? He made himself a cup of tea and texted Donald back.

I’m out of insect repellant. -SM

LOL! From what I gathered he wasn’t *too* disgusting last time. -DM

Just make sure you have your story straight. -DM

And are you busy right now? -DM

Gone were all thoughts of Magnussen, subtly pissing off his father, his suits, keeping stories straight, and his cup of tea. He looked at the time, just before noon, perfect.

No, why? Want to grab some falafel or a sandwich? -SM

We’re having dinner in about a week! -DM

Frowning at that reply, Sebastian absentmindedly picked up his spoon and stirred the tea as he contemplated his chances of turning that very vague answer into a yes. After a few moments another text arrived.

I’m sending a package to your flat with your next assignment. -DM

Sebastian rolled his eyes. Business before pleasure. Or, in Donald’s world, business followed by business before _more_ business.

How soon shall I expect it? And what’s the time frame? -SM

It’s already on its way. :D -DM

There are ten things that need to be delivered to ten locations. -DM

Today. -DM

Handle everything with gloves. Fingerprints. Don’t leave evidence. -DM

The GPS location is written on a piece of tape for each one. -DM

PRECISION is required. -DM

Sebastian arched an eyebrow but then he shook his head. Something told him that this assignment did not involve bullets, revenge, blood, justice, or death but instead bothering a certain someone, which was always a worthwhile endeavor and might further his own designs on needs-to-pay-attention-to- _me_ -and-not-his-ex-Donald.

PRECISION is my middle name. -SM

Especially if it involves winding up the ex. -SM

LOL. It does. He’ll hate every minute of it. -DM

Perfect! I am happy to be part of this plan! -SM

Do the items need to be delivered in order? -SM

No, not really. Just watch out for cameras and don’t get caught at the last one! -DM

Critical!!!!! -DM

Anything else I need to know? -SM

When you’re done, we could get fish and chips.... -DM

Sebastian’s heart leapt when he saw that message. It felt like Christmas.

I’m on it, boss! -SM

*~*~*

The package arrived and after carefully opening it, Sebastian was confused. There were nine A6 envelopes inside plastic sleeves. The envelopes were not sealed but the flap was tucked in. Sebastian couldn’t resist investigating. Inside each envelope was a small watercolor of an exotic goldfish. Each one was different and signed by JM and all were incredibly beautiful. Had Donald painted them? Could adorable-but-deadly-Donald be an artist? Was Donald really JM? If so, why did _the ex_ get original art? “I want one,” he muttered to goldfish number eight.

On the back of each there was a series of letters and numbers. Code. Sebastian decided that the messages weren’t any of his business no matter how much he wanted to know. However, if he wanted plenty of time for fish and chips and maybe more, he needed to not dawdle. He admired the miniature masterpieces for a few more minutes before taking a picture of each one and then carefully returning everything as it had been. 

The tenth item was a small, festively wrapped gift box. Sebastian shook the box and heard muffled sounds. “Bummer, the ex lives for another day,” he said. 

After making a list of the locations, he promptly determined the fastest, most efficient route. Looking at the map he noted that they formed the letter M, with the box’s location being the point where the diagonals met. Seb chuckled. “He’s sending the ex on a scavenger hunt, in not the nicest parts of the city,” he said. “And I’m guessing the fastidious bastard will assuredly loathe every minute of it.” Interesting. He gathered all the items and headed out.

*~*~*

✭ At the public library Landon branch behind a book on the moons of Saturn with number 523.986. 

✭ In the old costumes file in the stage manager’s filing cabinet at the Almeida Theatre.

✭ At the base of the cabinet underneath the pendulum of Prof. Owen Edgerton’s grandfather clock on the King’s College campus.

✭ Behind the aquarium that the chief of surgery at St. Bart’s hospital kept in the pediatric wing.

✭ Inside an unused computer in the business office of Swaine Adeney Brigg.

✭ At the back of the middle right drawer of a certain DI Lestrade’s desk, behind the doughnut shop coupons envelope.

✭ In the Qianlong period vase on the correspondence desk of one Lady Smallwood at her estate in Chelsea.

✭ Underneath the Druzy Green Quartz Stalactite Cluster on top of a bookshelf in the office of a certain geology professor.

✭ Inside the Betty Hemmings pen box of the chair of the department of mathematics at Imperial College.

 

Some of the places were more of a nuisance than others but Seb managed to entertain himself while being as unobtrusive as possible. Donald had seemingly put a lot of effort in selecting not only the locations but the specifics of each site. The man truly was brilliant even in his games and Seb felt somewhat privileged to be a part of them. He tried not to be jealous of the ex who still commanded enough of why-does-he-have-to-be-so-damn-cute-Donald’s attention.

The final location was inside a flat. It was a small place, in a rundown, drug and crime infested slum that stank of garbage, human waste, and decay. The denizens of the area seemingly sensed a predator and didn’t come close, if they saw him at all. Resisting the urge to simply barge into the flat, Sebastian instead carefully observed it for about ten minutes. The lights had been left on but no one seemed to be inside. 

The flat itself was easy to break into and two steps in, Sebastian realized why. The stench of chemicals, formaldehyde, rotting things, dirty dishes, and pots and pans all blooming with scientific experiments was overwhelming. Any sensible burglar would evacuate immediately if they made it that far.

“I hope we’re going to a good place,” Seb muttered underneath his breath as he made his way to the bedroom. Bookshelf. Skull on top. As he was pushing the pretty gift-wrapped box into the skull, he heard the door open. Fuck. Setting the skull down quietly, he ducked into the closet and left the door ajar so that he could see.

Sebastian relaxed into the darkness of the closet and focused. Every smell became sharper and the colors that he could see through the crack of the door intensified. Someone staggered in and stumbled, cursing loudly before slamming the door shut and crashing to the floor. Drunk or drugged. Fantastic. The sounds reverberated in his mind and Seb could feel adrenaline igniting every nerve in his body.

“Hate this… everything...” a voice mumbled. Sebastian watched a tall slender young man crawl into the bedroom, toward the bed, and retrieve a bundle from underneath the bed. His eyes were a crystalline blue, his lips dark and swollen, his clothes were disheveled and dirty, and his breathing was slow and labored.

“Bollocks,” the man cursed loudly while using the bed to pull himself up. He dropped the bundle on the bed and then clumsily staggered to the bathroom. Drugged, not drunk. Seb considered his options and decided to wait until the man passed out before leaving. It shouldn’t be long. Seb heard the man brushing his teeth and muting his phone, he carefully texted Donald.

I’m at the last place and someone showed up. Tall, curly hair, blue eyes, druggie. -SM

Package delivered. I’m hiding for now. -SM

Donald texted him back almost immediately.

Do NOT be seen but don’t hurt him. Get out of there ASAP. -DM

The man staggered out again, sat on the bed, and started reciting chemical formulas. Seb’s eyes widened. What the hell sort of addict did _that_? The man opened the bundle. Sebastian didn’t think he needed another hit. Heroin. Silently taking a deep breath, he forced himself not to intervene. He didn’t know the circumstances and he’d been given explicit instructions not to be seen.

“Hate… them... “ the man whispered while injecting the drug into his leg vein. “Fuck… Mycroft…” Sebastian could see the track marks on the leg and both his arms. After the man finished and fell back onto the bed, Seb texted Donald.

He was already stoned and just mainlined more. Advise. -SM

Make sure he’s okay and get out of there ASAP. I’ll get help. -DM

Sebastian heard the man sigh audibly and then his arm slid off the bed. Not good. Seb focused on the man’s respirations and watched, with dismay, as they slowed and then stopped. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself, pushing the closet door open and checking the man’s pulse. 

Nothing.


	8. Resuscitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian's life becomes even more complicated but he does manage to have dinner with Donald.

**Resuscitation**

 

“Double fuck.” Pulling the man to the floor, Sebastian checked for a carotid pulse and again found nothing. He started CPR and after about a minute texted Donald.

CPR. Need ambulance. -SM

It took a few minutes for Donald to reply.

Enroute. I used a fake name/number. Michael Wendell-no story. -DM

Get out of there ASAP after help gets there. ❤ -DM

Text me where you are as soon as you’re out. Stay hidden. -DM

Performing CPR was fairly mindless as he’d done so too many times in the field so Sebastian worked out the details of his story and mentally planned various escape routes from the building. Police and EMS arrived faster than he’d expected, which was good because the man needed NARCAN and a hospital.

Poor Michael Wendell, looking for this cute girl that he’d met at the pub, Janie Didn’t-Get-Her-Surname-But-She-Really-Was-Serious-And-Cute, went into the wrong flat and found the guy overdosing. Be right back, sir, just gotta find Janie and tell her he’d be a bit late. Nice police officer looking at him like he was an idiot and nodding sympathetically. Bye-bye. Lots of police and EMS everywhere. Fire escape. No one looking for a combat trained veteran making a getaway.

Keeping hidden, Sebastian texted Donald the cross streets once he was half a block away and then watched the flow of cars. The government vehicle with tinted windows was suspicious. That black sedan was probably why do-I-really-want-to-know-what-he’s-into-or-should-I-just-kiss-him-next-time-Donald told him to stay hidden. Thinking back to the night that they’d gone to the theater, he wondered if that was Donald’s ex. Probably. After a moment Donald texted back with an address about a quarter mile away and a license plate.

He stayed in the shadows until he saw a car, so very similar to a government vehicle, slow down near the designated intersection. Correct license plate. He quickly opened the passenger side door and flopped down.

“Hi,” Donald said hesitantly while starting to drive in the opposite direction from the flat. 

“That was... interesting.”

“Are _you_ okay?”

Sebastian shot Donald a quirky smile. “I’m not the one that’s mostly dead.”

Donald seemed to relax. “What happened? And I’m glad you said _mostly_.”

“I made all the deliveries, no problem,” Sebastian said. “The one lady in Chelsea, she’s got a cute little foxhound.” 

Donald seemed dismayed. “Did it raise the alarm or cause problems?”

“No, I’m good with the four legs. Can I kidnap it next time?”

Donald snickered. “You can dognap it anytime you want. I won’t even send a ransom note and we can pretend Lady S abandoned it.” 

Sebastian laughed and felt better. Not that he would kidnap anyone’s four-legged friend but Donald’s utterly adorable criminality soothed his raw nerves. He sighed and leaned his head back. “So… I eventually got to the guy’s flat,” he continued. “I put the box in the skull, cute gift-wrapping by the way, but then the guy showed up, flying high.”

“His name is Sherlock,” Donald murmured. “And he struggles with drugs.”

“Yeah, I’d say so. He was completely fucked up.”

“Tell me....” Donald said softly and Seb was sure that he heard an undertone of sadness in the man’s voice.

“He was stumbling and just sounded like he was out of it when he walked in the door. He was banging into things and falling down,” Seb related. “And, okay, when I got a peek at him, he looked like he’d… ya know… worked for it.”

Donald shuddered. “You’re most likely right. His family disowned him.”

“That sucks.” Sebastian remembered his father throwing him out and felt anger as well as compassion for the young man he’s just saved.

“They’re a bunch of entitled pricks and the sad part is that he’s brilliant,” Donald stated. “He’s _so_ brilliant that he makes you want to cry, and his family is destroying him.”

“He needs to breakout after some serious rehab.”

“He does and no one sees that.” Donald sighed. “They just keep trapping him within parameters of societal constipation.”

“Societal constipation.” Sebastian laughed wryly. “ _I_ don’t ever want to be trapped there.” He shifted and looked deeply in Donald’s eyes. “I don’t know why I’m asking you but promise me you’ll never let that happen to me, don’t let me fall into that trap.”

“Promise,” Donald murmured and took his hand. The gesture warmed Sebastian’s heart. He brought Donald’s hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles. Donald smiled. “Then what happened...?”

“He tried to clean up some and then mainlined some more,” Sebastian said. “I’m guessing he either forgot that he’d already had a hit or two in him or he decided that he just didn’t give a fuck anymore. He was muttering things about it not being worth it and hating people. In it went and out he went.” Donald nodded and Seb felt sadness rolling off of him. “Who is he? To you.”

Donald smiled sadly. “The ex’s baby brother,” he said. “He’s a few years younger than I am. I never met him in person though. The ex is always fretting over him, for good reason, but he does it in all the wrong ways. All of his family does and they all make it worse for him.”

“Families are usually too damn good at that.”

“They are or they’re not there at all,” Donald added and Seb sensed that such had been the case for Donald. “But thank you. I appreciate what you did. Are you hungry?”

Sebastian grinned broadly. “Yeah, I worked up an appetite. I’m starving. Where are you taking me?”

“Where would you like to go?”

“Someplace that serves meat and lots of it.”

“Korean barbecue.”

“No chamomile tea, please.”

“At this point, if I have to kill you, it’ll be a lot more clever than that,” Donald teased.

Seb smirked and kissed Donald’s hand again. “Damn, I hope so.”

*~*~*

Donald took him to a place in Central Saint Giles Piazza that had a name like a cheap motel stateside but instead served an incredible array of Korean food. Donald mentioned that their vegetable dishes were passable but any and all of the meats were outstanding. Sebastian ordered the beef bulgogi, the squid, the tiger prawn, and a portion of duck. Donald seemed impressed but only ordered the ribeye and some spicy ramen for himself. 

Sebastian decided to jump right into the topic that had been sitting at the back of his mind since close to noon. “You said that Magnussen was going to be contacting me…?”

“Mmmm… yes, nothing like ruining our meal with an unpleasant topic,” Donald grumbled playfully but then his expression turned serious. “I haven’t gotten much but it looks like he wants you to infiltrate one of my operations.”

“Bastard.”

“Agreed.”

Donald smiled coyly. “I think the best course of action is to have you agree to whatever it is he’s trying to do. Once I know what he’s planning, then I can adjust things to make you look good and gain his trust as much as anyone can with a man like that while protecting my interests.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Sebastian said while nodding but then he shuddered at the thought of his only encounter with Magnussen. “The man is repulsive.”

“He’s useful, if you’re careful,” Donald said. “If you protect yourself from him and guard your personal information from him. He’s a blackmailer.” 

Everything about Magnussen made Seb sick. The man knew about his allergies, his regrettable discharge, and the fact that his family had disowned him. Even if he didn’t know the specifics of what he’d done for the military, there was certainly enough to hold over his head and that worried him. He’d rather eliminate the man. Seb murmured, “He’s got some on me.”

“I know.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Keep your boundaries as much as you can with him,” Donald said. “You don’t want to feed a blackmailer.” They paused as their server delivered their drinks. Donald took a sip and continued, “I’m not worried about what he’s got on you. We can make you vanish easily and then you’re useless to him.”

“I like that,” Seb said and then added, “When you’re done with him…” he left the sentence unfinished to insinuate what he wanted to do.

“Yes,” Donald said and smirked. “But only when we’re _done_. Killing him now would defeat the purpose of getting the vast amounts of information that he has, which is what I want.”

“I suppose that makes-” Sebastian was cut off by his phone starting to play Danger Zone. It was Neil Barclay, one of the few military commanders who had stood by him. His son had been in his unit and Sebastian had saved his life during a fierce combat. “Sorry, friend’s father,” he mumbled and quickly but guiltily sent the call to voicemail. “That makes sense and I agree,” he continued. “The man is evil and creepy. Does he have anything on you?”

“Not directly,” Donald answered a bit brusquely and that piqued Seb’s interest. He made a mental note to see if he could discover anything about that next time he had to suffer Magnussen in person. “And I’m not worried about it.”

“But when we’re done with him?” Seb pressed. The idea of being able to kill Magnussen made the thought of his having to tolerate the man and be polite marginally palatable.

“I’ll let _you_ do it,” Donald said huskily holding each word in a way that made Sebastian weak. He understood the words but that voice felt like liquid lust coursing through him. He inhaled sharply but then Danger Zone started playing again. Donald smiled. “They’re insistent. Go ahead.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep it short.” Sebastian pulled out his phone again and answered. “Hello.”

“Sebastian, how are you?”

Seb smiled. He was fond of the man. “I’m doing as well as can be expected, sir. How are you? How is Jeremy?” 

The man gave him a quick summary. He’d been sent to Rabat to do intelligence work and Jeremy had been sent to Afghanistan. “Are you available for work?” Neil then asked.

Sebastian’s eyes widened. He’d gone for several months looking for work and not seen any interest from anywhere. Now that he was working for Donald, and somewhat for Magnussen, everyone else was interested in him. Where had these people been a month ago? “I’ve been able to find some odd jobs here and there recently,” he answered. “Why?”

“I’ve got a strong lead for you.” 

Seb looked at Donald pointedly. “What kind of work?”

“Black ops stuff,” Neil explained. “The type of work you like and excel at. There’s a certain codename person that has a bit of a situation and asked for a name. I immediately gave him yours.”

“One of those codename people,” Seb repeated and at that Donald’s eyes widened. “As in…”

“As in British Intelligence,” Neil finished Sebastian’s phrase. “Codename Antarctica.”

“Antarctica,” Seb repeated quietly but Donald gasped before burying his face in his hands. It looked as though he were shaking. “Hold on a minute.” He put the phone on hold. “What’s going on?”

Donald looked up at him and stifled his laughter. “Antarctica wants you to work for him...” he said incredulously.

“Yeah, should I refuse? If I can?”

Donald snickered. “You don’t really get to refuse codename people,” he said and then smiled adorably. “They tend to make you do it no matter what and it’s usually more pleasant if you agree the first time. As long as you know that you really work for _me_.”

“Of course.” Seb blew him a kiss. “Let me finish the call.” He informed Neil that yes, he was available although he was still finishing up a few jobs for his other employer so he might need a bit of time before starting the assignment. Neil said he’d explain the situation but didn’t think that Antarctica wanted anything with specific deadlines. Sebastian politely thanked the man and bid his farewells. 

“I need a drink,” Seb muttered and downed half his gin and tonic. 

“What did he say?” Donald asked gleefully. “What does the Iceman want?”

Sebastian’s eyes widened as more pieces of a complicated puzzle fell into place. “Antarctica is your ex,” he stated.

“You got it,” Donald said and Sebastian could tell that the man was pleased.

“And I just saved his baby brother but he needs to never find out about _that_.”

“Exactly. Or that you’re working for me or even know that I exist.”

“I’m guessing he’d kill me.”

Donald giggled and took a sip. “See. He’s driving us to drink.”

“What do you think he wants?”

“I’d say he wants somebody competent that can take care of problems for British Intelligence without having any ties to the government,” Donald said. 

Seb nodded. “Disownable and disposable. I don’t like it.”

Donald was silent for a moment and then spoke quietly. “I don’t think you’re disposable.” While Sebastian knew those were easy words to speak, he sensed that Donald meant it. “And I won’t disown you.”

“I…” Seb started and then paused for a moment. He took Donald’s hands in his own. “I believe you. After what happened in the military, I told myself that I couldn’t trust anyone no matter what.” Donald smiled shyly. Seb felt warmth surrounding his heart. “But... I trust _you_.”


	9. Stuck in the Middle with You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seb and Donald's date continues and then Seb talks to Antarctica and meets with Magnussen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: There is some explicit naughtiness in the first section.

**Stuck in the Middle With You**

Sebastian was in heaven. After dinner Donald had suggested a movie and a nightcap, and while Sebastian had initially wondered what sort of complicated or outlandish mission dinner-followed-by-a-movie-and-a-nightcap was code for, he’d readily agreed. It was probably going to be just as much fun as previous escapades and maybe he’d get to use the _curare_ again.

Surprisingly, there had been no detours to set fire to the ex’s fancy house. They’d simply gone back to Donald’s flat and watched _The Secret Four_ ; and nothing more catastrophic than Magnussen texting him to set up a lunch meeting the following day had happened. 

They were currently watching _Reservoir Dogs_ and sipping Green Chartreuse. Sebastian remembered his father having a bottle of the green liqueur but he’d never been allowed to have any. It had a sweet herby flavor with hints of anise but wasn’t too heavy on the tongue. The perfect nightcap to go with a rather violent film noir and a snuggly criminal, who could explain how all the gunshots scenes were fake because they hadn’t calculated the right trajectories.

When Mr. Blonde started dancing to _Stuck in the Middle With You_ , Donald rose and matched the actor in front of the screen. But sexier. And deadlier. Somehow a pocket knife appeared in Donald’s hand and he moved just like Mr. Blonde. The blade danced in his hand as Mr. Blonde cut the police officer. Seb was mesmerized. Donald’s lithe body undulated to the music while there was so much blood and torture on the screen. He was getting hard.

And then somehow Donald was on his knees in front of him. The blade was gone but nimble fingers were unbuttoning his trousers and caressing his legs. Seb stared intently into the man’s dark chocolate eyes.

“Do you want to do this,” Donald asked as he pulled Seb’s cock free and brought his face close to the tip. It wasn’t a question but, without breaking eye contact, Seb nodded silently. He’d been dreaming about this for weeks. 

Donald licked a drop of pre-come off the tip and curled his tongue back into his mouth. Like a poison dart frog shooting out its tongue and capturing a fly. Donald then gently rubbed the entire length across his face. Over and over. Sebastian shuddered. Donald seemed to almost worship his cock but those eyes spoke of power and control. Seb knew he was doomed. Donald was going to own him mind, body, and soul. 

Each sensation was incredibly erotic yet ephemeral and Seb wanted more. He ran his fingers through Donald’s dark hair and marvelled at its softness. Another contrast. All the sharp edges and silky hair. 

Donald smiled knowingly then pressed his lips against the tip of Seb’s cock. After licking the slit up and down several times, he widened his lips and slowly pulled the head into his mouth. Seb’s jaw slowly fell open and he put his hands on Donald’s shoulders. This couldn’t be happening. It was only a dream. Someone died on the screen. Donald slid his lips down the entire length. This only happened in Seb’s dreams.

Seb heard gunfire from the movie and his mind stopped functioning. He shuddered with pleasure again. Donald had a wicked mouth. Up and all the way down, again and again. Seb tried in vain to keep his own arousal under control. He wanted this to last. He wanted to convince himself that it was real. He wanted the fantasy to be eternal. 

Donald tightened the muscles in his mouth and sucked harder. Seb felt as though he were on fire. Lust and desire were overcoming all rational thought. Donald’s dark stare bore through his soul and his control slipped. Seb’s body tightened. He heard more gunshots from the movie and groaned before succumbing to bliss as he came.

Seb opened an eye and smiled at Donald. “Wow…” he mumbled. The contrast between cute and adorable Donald with the violent, bloody and intense film, and how relaxed he felt was stark and surreal.

“Want to finish the movie?” Donald asked sweetly. “Or head to the bedroom?”

Seb didn’t have to think about that for even a second. “Bedroom.”

*~*~*

“We should probably get today started,” Donald said cheerfully in a sing-song voice that sounded entirely too energetic for someone who’d gotten no sleep and had been an active and enthusiastic participant in fairly strenuous physical activity.

“How do you even have the energy to _consider_ that?” Seb grumbled playfully.

“Did I wear you out, Tiger?”

“No, but sleep isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

“I have work to do and you need to get ready for your meeting with Magnussen,” Donald noted.

Seb eyed the wall clock. “It’s seven in the morning,” he countered. Donald glared at him. “I can sleep until eleven and take a cab.” Donald pointed to the bathroom. “Fine but I need some coffee.”

Donald rolled his eyes. “You take a shower, do what you need to do, and I’ll cook some breakfast and make tea.”

“Black tea.”

“Yes, yes, I already said it wouldn’t be tea when I decide to kill you,” Donald said, rolling out of bed.

“I want it to be spectacular,” Seb said and sat up. “One more?” he suggested but then his cell phone beeped. Incoming text. He turned and growled at it. 

Donald laughed. “Now what?”

“It’s your ex,” Seb said and showed him the message. “He wants to talk and he’s an early bird.”

Are you available to speak re: work, Colonel Moran? -AA

“He is and he keeps a ridiculously regular and precise schedule,” Donald added while tossing a bathrobe to Seb. “Every day is like clockwork.” He then pulled a pair of jeans from his dresser.

“There’s something wrong with him.”

“There are a lot of things wrong with him. Did he say what he wanted?”

“He wants to chat,” Seb said and looked at Donald questioningly.

“Go ahead. I’ll work on breakfast.” Donald retrieved a white button down shirt from his closet and slipped into it.

Seb nodded, watched why-does-he-have-to-be-so-damn-sexy-Donald leave the room, and then texted back.

I’m free now. -SM

A moment later his phone rang. Unknown number. “Hello.”

“Colonel Moran,” a posh Eton voice spoke.

Seb cringed. The man probably was a colleague of his father. “Yes, sir,” he replied instinctively.

“You come highly recommended,” the man began.

“I don’t need bullshit or flattery,” Seb stated. “Mr. Barclay said that you are one of those people that has a codename and you have some work for me. What do you need?” 

“I see,” the man said and paused for an instant before continuing in the same flat tone. “The assignment is somewhat long term and requires discretion.”

“I kill people. Discreetly. Sir,” Seb said. “You’ve read my file. What do you need?” He thought he heard the man sigh with frustration and smirked. He could easily see why Donald enjoyed flustering the man.

“You’ve been doing some work for Charles Augustus Magnussen,” the man said. Sebastian inhaled sharply. How had anyone but Donald known that? “Yes, the government has ways of knowing these things,” the man said as though he were speaking to a slow child.

Seb felt his anger flare. His father had always spoken to him in that manner as had every incompetent military commander that possessed an overinflated sense of self worth. “Of course, go on,” Seb retorted in that very same tone. He could bring out the posh when needed.

The man paused again. Good, keep him guessing. “Mr. Magnussen is in possession of some material regarding a person of interest to the government. We need you to recover or destroy that information.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Sebastian said although it meant getting closer to Magnussen and that thought was quite repulsive. “Do you have an exact location of the material?”

“No.” Well, that wasn’t helpful.

“Do you have a time frame?”

“As soon as possible but this assignment may take time,” the man explained. _Fantastic_. “Mr. Magnussen is exceedingly careful with the information that he possesses.”

“Understood. Do you care about collateral?”

“Discretion is critical therefore I’d prefer there be none but that is secondary to the retrieval of the information.”

“Understood. What level of reporting do you want?”

“As appropriate.”

I’ll need the case file and any pertinent details _not_ in the file.”

“I’ve reactivated your military account but tweaked the clearance,” the man said. “Very few people will be able to see that and you will have exceedingly limited access but the information you need will all be there.”

“I will need a number to contact you”

The man sighed once more. “Yes, yes, that’s all in the file.”

Seb smiled at hearing that familiar tone of voice. So much like his father. It meant the conversation was almost over. “Payment?”

“On completion, it will be both monetary and otherwise depending on results but do let me know if there are expenses that need to be covered.”

“Of course.”

“I expect to not be disappointed, Colonel.”

“Neither do I,” Sebastian replied smugly. The man then excused himself and Seb quickly hung up. After taking a deep breath, he strode into the kitchen still fully naked.

Donald looked at him appreciatively and whistled lowly. “How did it go?”

“Why on _this_ or any other earth would you have ever dated _him_?” Seb asked.

Donald chuckled. “I’m not sure I should answer that question with you looking so delectable.”

“The man is an arse. I mean, he’s probably alright for a codename person but he’s still a arse.”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got plenty of time.”

“No, you don’t,” Donald stated and pointed to the bathroom. “Shower, breakfast, clearing your mind in preparation for Magnussen, and maybe you mentioned something about one more. After breakfast might be nice but not if you don’t clean up.”

Seb frowned as he realized what Donald was doing. “You’re distracting me.”

“Is it working?”

“No… well, maybe,” Seb grumbled. Donald could distract him six ways to Sunday without even trying too hard. “But seriously, why were you dating Poshman?”

“It really is a long story,” Donald said. “Can I promise to tell you later, if it becomes relevant?”

“Fine.”

“Think of me in the shower.”

“Join me,” Seb challenged. Donald smirked and turned off the stove.

*~*~*

Sebastian followed Ian, the mind-numbingly insipid lackey, into the formal dining room and sat down. “Mr. Magnussen will be here in a minute,” Mr. Nebbish intoned.

“Sure,” Sebastian mumbled in as bored a tone as he could manage. As soon as Ian left, Miranda came in with a serving cart. She greeted him as she set a tray full of pastries on the table and then set about making him, and only him, a Bengal chai tea. “Doesn’t Mr. Magnussen want some as well?” he asked.

“He said just for you. He’ll probably ask for an Aquavit Fizz, that’s his lunchtime usual,” she said, looking up. “But I made this one extra special for you.” Seb tensed and arched an eyebrow. “No, no, I just added extra spices. Nothing dangerous.”

“Thank you,” Sebastian said coolly. All the alarm bells were ringing and he knew he was not touching the tea. After she left, Magnussen entered the room. 

“Mr. Magnussen,” Seb said and rose. 

The man smiled snidely and Sebastian had to resist the temptation to wipe that smirk off of the man’s face. Forcefully. “Please, sit down,” Magnussen said and waited for him before sitting in the chair _next_ to him. More alarm bells started ringing. The man smiled licentiously and Sebastian felt sick. “You did an admirable job with that little problem,” he said.

Seb nodded. “That’s what I do. Admirable jobs with little problems.” Sexy-murderous-adorable-snuggly-criminal-ace-blowjob-giving-little problems. 

“I received the paperwork and everything is as expected.”

“That’s what I do,” Seb repeated blandly. He forced his thoughts away from Donald riding him wantonly. “Deal with problems.” 

Much to his horror, Magnussen picked up his hand. Seb yanked it back but the other man simply tsked. “You sent me such lovely pictures.” 

Sebastian suddenly realized that those pictures could be used against him. “Don’t,” he growled but knew that his words wouldn’t have much weight. 

Magnussen took his hand once more. “I tend to do whatever I want,” he said with a voice that sent shivers down Sebastian’s spine. “Seeing as you did rather well on your first assignment; you didn’t die after all... I have another assignment for you. This one is a bit more lengthy and I’d be willing to put you on payroll.”

Seb frowned. What was it with people and lengthy assignments that day? “For how long?”

“That’s not usually the first question that most people ask me.”

“I’m not most people.”

“True, and that’s why I’m hiring you for this assignment.” Magnussen brought Seb’s hands to his lips and kissed one knuckle.

Seb yanked his hand away and growled, “I have my limits.”

“I have pictures,” Magnussen purred but put his hands in his own lap. “I’m trying to get some information on a certain organization and it’s been tricky so I need someone of your particular talents.”

Seb nodded and remembered Donald telling him to set clear boundaries with Magnussen and stick to them. “I’m listening.”

“A certain Frenchman, Louis De Chevron, has entered the country illegally in order to do a job for a certain James Moriarty who is a pathetic little crime boss operating here in London. I need to expose this man so that the police can take the appropriate actions.” Magnussen waved his hand dismissively. “But that’s not the point. I know where Louis De Chevron will be staying and I need you to eliminate him, do the job that he was supposed to do, and take his place in Moriarty’s little organization.”

“Kill someone, pretend to be him, infiltrate,” Seb summarized. “Seems pretty straightforward. What do you want me to do once I’m there?”

“Get me all sorts of information on this Moriarty fellow, what he’s doing, who is paying him, his government contacts, all that.”

Sebastian nodded. He doubted that the man would turn the information over to the police or do anything even remotely law-abiding. He’d use it to blackmail the bloke. “Any idea how long this will last?” he asked.

“A few months at most, but I anticipate less, a few weeks most likely,” Magnussen replied and Seb sensed something sinister in the man’s voice. Probably a case of once Sebastian had retrieved all the information that Magnussen wanted, word would be passed along to perhaps this Moriarty and Seb would be eliminated. “You are competent, after all,” Magnussen drawled.

Sebastian wanted to vomit but he forced himself to remain calm and pretend that he was in control. “Assuming I accept this assignment,” he said. “What sort of remuneration are you offering?”

Magnussen blinked and seemed annoyed. Seb got the distinct feeling that it was going to be back heavy because he wasn’t expected to survive. “A thousand stirling for taking care of the Frenchman, followed by one hundred per day while you are retrieving information, and ten thousand on completion of the assignment,” Magnussen paused and licked his lips. “I think that’s more than generous and a man in your position would be… happy to accept.”


	10. A Tangled Web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seb and Donald discuss his various assignments and employers and Seb goes on a mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****TW: descriptions of animal abuse in the last section.****

**A Tangled Web**

“What? He wants what?” Donald almost shrieked and then started giggling. They were lying on Donald’s bed. “He wants you to infiltrate another organization and he gives you less than the basics of the organization and very minimal details on the assignment with nothing on the person you’re supposed to kill.”

Sebastian had finished relating his meeting with Magnussen and they were contemplating getting some sort of interesting take away, except that Donald wanted a plate full of chips as well. “It’s a mess. And he kissed my knuckles.”

“Truly repulsive.”

“The bastard has to go.”

“He does,” Donald agreed. “But he’s got a lot of information that I want and there’s a significant amount of blackmail that shouldn’t get out. For now.” Donald rolled on top of him. And stretched. 

Seb forgot what he had been about to say. “You’re distracting me,” he mumbled playfully. It didn’t matter that they were fully clothed. Donald was attractive no matter what state he was in.

“Am I?” Donald asked coolly although Seb could see amusement in his eyes. “What kind of sniper are you?”

“Don’t make me answer that.” Seb rolled the both of them so that Donald was underneath him and pushed his hips downward. Laughing, Donald wrapped his arms around Seb’s shoulders and let his legs widen to accommodate him. Seb looked at Donald quizzically. Things between them seemed to have changed dramatically and while he was ecstatic that cute-adorable-brilliant-knows-how-to-cook-and-is-incredibly-deadly-Donald was sleeping with him, he wasn’t stupid and sensed that he was missing something subtle. Clarification was needed. “What are we doing?” he asked.

Donald smiled coyly and lowered his eyelashes just enough. “You’re on top of me and it looks like you’re about to have your terribly wicked way with me.”

“I’d like to,” Seb murmured, “but things are getting confusing with work. I feel like I’m being pulled in too many different directions and there’s something about you that short circuits my brain so I can’t think clearly.” 

Donald laughed and ran his hand through Seb’s hair. “Nothing wrong with that, Tiger.” 

The Irish accent seemed a little stronger and more lilting. Seb shook his head to clear it. “I like you,” he admitted. “And I feel like you’re the only sane thing in this crazy world.”

Donald gasped playfully. “The day that anyone calls _me_ sane-”

“Sane for me,” Seb amended.

“Sane for a world that traps people and keeps them locked in soul-numbing squalor.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll fight them together.” 

Seb looked deeply into Donald’s eyes and then kissed him…

*~*~*

“Let’s look at this other mess,” Donald said as Seb logged into his government account. Donald whistled lowly. “You’ve got fairly decent clearance now.”

“Your ex is generous.”

“This is nothing. You should see the clearance _he’s_ got.”

“You never said why you dated him,” Seb noted. “And I’m curious about why you broke up.”

Donald kissed him quickly. “Later, I promise.” 

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“It looks like Mags has got some solid info on Sherlock.” They looked at the material that Antarctica had sent and Donald went through each item, line by line.

“Sherlock is the guy I did CPR on,” Seb stated somewhat absentmindedly.

“Yes, and it’s so adooorable how he tries to hide it from you,” Donald said. “Magnussen definitely has pictures, video, maybe purchase records. Most dealers wouldn’t do that but with the promise of a few quid tossed their way… footage and receipts could easily materialize.”

“Of course.”

Donald tapped his lip while looking at the screen. “I’ll see if I can find out what he’s got, _specifically_ , and where it is and then you can go get it. It’ll impress the Iceman. He likes efficiency and competence.”

“Why do you call him the Iceman?”

“Long story.”

Seb rolled his eyes. “To be revealed _later_ …?”

“Yes, although it’s not all that exciting. You can probably put it together if you have nothing better to do with thirty seconds of your time.”

Sebastian sighed. Donald seemed trapped by his ex and Seb wanted to shoot the man. He probably could deduce what had happened based on the fact that Donald called him Iceman and it saddened him. He decided to not press the issue and get back to the topic of Magnussen. “How many people do you have in there?”

“It’s best if you don’t know. A few, not enough.”

“I’d like to know who I can trust in that cesspool of snakes,” Seb grumbled. Donald looked at him coyly and blew him a kiss. Seb smiled and continued, “Miranda made me a Bengal chai and I didn’t drink it because I don’t trust anything there but it smelled really nice.”

“You can drink anything Miranda makes you,” Donald said and Seb nodded. That confirmed his suspicions that Miranda was working for Donald. She had known about his allergy. “Did she tell you about the chamomile?”

“You need to learn which questions to ask me,” Donald said evenly. “Knowing what you know, should I touch that question with a ten foot pole?”

Seb didn’t need to consider that for even an instant. “I wouldn’t touch that question with a very short stick.”

“Good answer,” Donald said. “So, I will work on finding out what and where Magnussen has on little Sherlock.” He rose and picked up a file from next to the computer. “This is your next project.” Seb took the folder and scanned the contents. “It’s the assignment that Luigi is, well was, coming into town for.”

“Luigi?”

“Louis De Chevron, the guy Magnussen wants you to kill. He’s half Italian and goes by Luigi or Gigi if he likes you,” Donald clarified.

“Gi… gi…” Seb mumbled. That was a nickname neither he, nor any other self-respecting sniper, should ever find acceptable. “That sounds like what my stepmum would name a cat.”

“He’s nice,” Donald stated. “And fairly competent. I’m going to notify him that he’s off the case and find something else for him to do.”

“I thought he was working for this Moriarty fellow.”

Donald turned, stared at him, smiled softly, and then kissed him. “So do I.” 

Several pieces suddenly fit together. No wonder Donald had been fairly amused when he’d related Magnussen’s mission and hadn’t seemed overly concerned. “You’re going to cancel my stepmum’s cat’s named sniper so I don’t have to kill him.”

“Reassign him elsewhere and tell him to lie low.”

“Then I’ll take care of this and tell Mr. Repulsive I got the job done and am tight with Moriarty.”

“Mostly. Do the assignment, then tell Magnussen that you killed both the sniper and the target and that you are working with one of the people who handles things for Moriarty.”

“I’ll need a good name for the chap,” Seb said. “I already killed Donald McMurrogh.” 

Donald giggled. “That you did. Let’s go with Eddie. I’ve never created any Eddies. Eddie O’Sullivan, fine Irish lad.”

*~*~*

Lord Daniel Montgomery was a truly disgusting, pathetic excuse for a human being but he had a very well appointed office in his mansion. Seb imagined even his father would be impressed. Perfectly maintained Georgian antique furniture, cherry wood humidor, Moroccan Berber carpets, a Renoir on the walls, he was a peer of the realm… and the man was a child sex trafficker. Vile.

As soon as he’d reached the estate, he’d texted Donald who had looped the security cameras. Every morning Lord Montgomery worked at Downing Street and, after lunch, strolled in his gardens with his dogs for an hour or so before finishing work from home. Since it was a cool afternoon, the man had left the glass patio door open and Sebastian had made good use of it.

With gloved hands, he meticulously checked the desk drawers for any alarms. None. Smirking, he retrieved his lock picks and easily opened the middle drawer on the right. For once a Donald mission was going smoothly! As he retrieved Lord Montgomery’s prized gold-inlaid Colt model 1849 pocket revolver along with several bullets and pondered how Donald had known its location, he heard a growl coming from the inside door. Looking up, he saw a bull terrier, staring at him. Damn. 

Growling, the dog charged and Seb instinctively jumped to a crouch on top of the desk. He quickly loaded three bullets into the gun as the dog lunged up at him. Fuck. He stepped off the other side of the desk. “You’re cute,” he murmured lowly in his best dog-friendly voice. The dog snarled and charged around the desk. “And competent.”

Seb jumped on top of the desk again. He liked dogs and did not want to shoot this one. It was doing its job. The dog jumped up at him and he turned to push it away with his elbow and shoulder. Several pens, the paperclip holder, and the stapler clattered off the desk. The dog landed against the gold inlaid wine rack and knocked it over. Broken glass and wine everywhere. Fantastic...

“Don’t make me shoot you, pup,” Seb muttered as he jumped off the desk. More desk clutter fell to the floor. Loudly. The dog growled. Humming lowly at a pitch that had soothed his father’s dogs, Seb circled the desk and made his way to the patio door.

The dog bared its teeth, snarled, jumped on the desk, scattering even more items, and threw itself at him. Seb shifted sideways and grabbed the door handle. And then he heard footsteps. High heels. Seb groaned and the dog paused. 

“Abby?!” a woman’s shrill voice was heard. “What are you doing, you stupid dog.” He heard the footsteps approaching. “One of these days, I’m going to have you and the rest of them put down.” 

Sebastian quickly opened the patio door. The dog turned and charged him again. He barely got himself outside and the door closed enough that Abby slammed into it and not him. Seb ducked around the side of the house and hoped that there was no one there. There wasn’t. He took a deep breath. Curse he’s-so-damn-attractive-but-his-missions-are-never-just-the-dog’s-bollocks-Donald.

“Look at this mess!” he heard the woman yell. A door slammed and the house shook. “God, I hate the lot of you!” Seb focused. That was either the maid or the wife and she clearly didn’t like the dogs. He scanned the garden and saw the path that Lord Montgomery normally took. Sebastian heard the crackle of an electrical discharge. And the dog yelped.

Seb gasped. He knew what that sound was and it was wrong. Completely and utterly despicable. Even his father had never done _that_. “Take that!” the woman shrieked. “And look at my wine!” Seb heard the crackle again followed by the dog crying out.

Cold fury filled him. No one should treat an animal, a companion, in that manner. He pulled the door open, smirked when he saw the woman’s bright red painted lips fall open, and shot her. One bullet, middle of the forehead. She fell to the floor. Seb walked over to the dog and noted that she was shivering. “You alright?” he murmured. The dog whimpered and eyed him balefully. “I’ll be right back.” 

*~*~*

“Donald needs to get us a better rental,” Seb murmured to Abby. She was wrapped up in a blanket in a box on the floor of the passenger side of the car Donald had lent him for the mission and eying him skeptically. As soon as he reached a section of London that was less residential and opulent where he could stop and text without drawing attention to himself, he sent Donald another message. He’d already sent one confirming both kills.

I need a new apartment. -SM

? -DM

I have a new dog. -SM

You didn’t. -DM

I had to. Long story. -SM

We need to discuss. Warehouse. -JM

We’re on our way! -SM

We... -JM

I’m not a dog person. -JM

Seb smiled at the dog and started driving again. “He’s going to love you...”


End file.
